Star Wars II: The Revised Revised Version
by Feeding-The-Wolves
Summary: A rewrite of my original parody of Attack of the Clones... my pen name used to be XenaGirl . Please read! You'll laugh, you'll cry, it'll change your life... well, maybe not. You'll laugh, though.
1. Corde's Secret

**Hellllloooo to new readers, and hello again to any old readers! I originally published this story about two years ago, and I got some really nice feedback. But then I read through it a little while ago, and I realized the writing wasn't really that great. Also, there were a few bits that kind of didn't make sense… so I've fixed all that up, and added plenty of new material, so it is so much better now!**

**For people who haven't read this story before, it's basically a parody of the second Star Wars movie. The plot is similar, but a lot more insane. It's rated T because there's some mild swearing, drug use and generally inappropriate stuff (mainly done by Anakin). **

**I hope you enjoy it! **

Senator Padmé Amidala gazed through the viewscreen of her starfighter at the dull grey surface of Coruscant. She had travelled the long distance from her home planet Naboo in order to address the Senate about the war against the Separatists. Padmé should have been reclining comfortably in her private quarters in the large silver ship that she and Captain Typho were flanking, but this same Captain had decided that was far too risky. So, they had arranged for one of Padmé's handmaidens, Cordé, to replace her on the starship on the journey from Naboo. However, Padmé was certain this was all just an elaborate plan to get her out of the ship so that they could drink and gamble in peace.

Despite all of their fears, the starship and its two fighters landed safely on a platform near the Senate. As soon as her fighter had completed its landing cycle, Padmé clambered out and walked towards Typho (or Typhoid, as his enemies called him). He was fiddling with his helmet and looking a little sheepish; Padmé was certain he was about to grovel to her.

Sure enough, he started to frame an apology for his overreaction, but he was silenced by a colossal explosion. Padmé and Typho both flung themselves face-down onto the durasteel surface of the platform. Once the noise had died away, Padmé jumped up and ran towards the twisted wreckage of the starship (Typho didn't get up; he had knocked himself out with his own helmet). Her mind was spinning and reeling with shock. _What sort of cowardly assassin strikes when their target is on the ground? _she thought angrily. Her jumbled thoughts abruptly ceased as she finally spotted Cordé, crushed and scorched, lying amongst the rubble.

'Cordé!' she gasped, kneeling down beside her injured handmaiden. 'Are you alright?'

This was not what Cordé needed to hear at this moment in time. She started to mutter, 'What does it look like, you little-' But she succeeded in stopping herself before she said something she would regret. Obviously, Padmé was under a lot of stress, even if she wasn't lying on the ground minutes from death. Cordé took a shallow breath, painfully inflating her crushed lungs, and murmured, 'I'm sorry Senator. I've failed you.' There. That sounded suitably selfless and groveling.

'Yeah, you have,' Padmé admitted.

Cordé felt her temper rise again. Padmé had never been a particularly understanding person; she remembered that when her first boyfriend had dumped her, Padmé had told her to stop whining because he was a jerk anyway. Then she had ordered Cordé to make her a latte. But this simply surpassed all of those previous offences.

'You're supposed to say something nice,' said Cordé reprovingly.

'What's the point?' Padmé replied matter-of-factly, shrugging. 'You're going to die anyway.'

Cordé gave up; there was no way she could argue with that. There was just one more thing she had to say; something that was bound to annoy Padmé.

'Senator, I…' She paused to gather her breath. 'I'm… wearing…' The dying girl trailed off, exhausted.

'What, Cordé, wearing what?' Padmé asked impatiently, giving her a little shake.

Cordé mustered one last ounce of strength. 'Your… Victoria's Secret bra.' With that, she died, smiling in satisfaction.

Padmé seized her around the neck, not even caring so much that she was already dead. 'You BITCH!' she shrieked. 'You ruined my best bra!'

Typho, who had just regained consciousness, grabbed the young Senator roughly and dragged her away.

'M'lady,' he said urgently, 'We have to go. We're going to be late for the Senate session.'

Padmé nodded, regaining her usual calm demeanor, and turned to walk away. Cordé was dead and gone now, and good riddance. She had a job to do.

Fifteen minutes later, Padmé was standing in her dressing room, growling angrily as she pulled on her ugly Bonds underwear. What was she going to do without her lucky Victoria's Secret bra? And how would she manipulate stubborn Senators without showing them a quick flash of black lace? Padmé was absolutely certain that today's session was going to be a fiasco.

Sure enough, when she entered the cavernous arena of the Senate, two Senators were discussing TV shows while the Chancellor took a nap, his grey head resting on the control panel of his platform. Padmé snarled furiously. They were supposed to be debating the construction of an army to combat the Separatists: a group of renegade planetary leaders who were threatening the peace. As usual, this vital issue was being studiously ignored.

'So, did you watch _Desperate Housewives _last night?' asked the fat blue Twi'lek Senator, Orn Free Taa.

'Yes!' replied the Senator of Malastare, Ask Aak. 'I can't believe Bree is-'

He stopped speaking suddenly and gasped as Padmé maneuvered her platform towards the Chancellor.

'Chancellor Palpatine, you're supposed to be discussing the Separatists!' she yelled, her voice echoing off the walls of the Senate.

Palpatine woke with a start. 'Senator Amidala?' he asked uncertainly, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. 'What are you doing here? They told me you were dead!'

He sighed inwardly. Now that Padmé was here, he would be forced to stay awake and actually _think _about things! She was the only person who really took the Senate seriously; everyone else just saw it as a great chance to get out of their low-life day jobs.

'No, I'm very alive, and also very angry because I'm not wearing my lucky Victoria's Secret bra!' she snapped.

Ask Aak and Orn Free Taa, who had both been casting cursory glances at her cleavage, sat back in their seats, disappointed.

'Right,' Palpatine said, sitting up and trying to look very awake. 'So, the war. What do you guys think?' He glanced hopefully around the arena. Perhaps if no-one had an opinion, he would be able to go home. His face fell as Ask Aak raised his hand.

The Senator cleared his throat and announced, 'I think war is good.'

Orn Free Taa nodded in agreement, and there was a smattering of appreciative applause.

'Good, good,' Palpatine said thoughtfully. 'Anyone else got an opinion, or can I go home?'

His heart sank as he saw Padmé stand up; it was immediately evident to everyone that she was about to embark on one of her signature rants.

'This war against the Separatists will destroy our peaceful lives!' she cried. 'I have already experienced war firsthand, when my planet was invaded by those slimy gits, the Trade Federation!' There was an indignant shout of 'Hey!' from the Neimoidian Senator, but Padmé continued regardless. 'We cannot allow this to happen again!'

When her speech was concluded, the Senate rang with thunderous applause and cheers. This was the best speech they had ever heard in the Senate, and that included the Mon Calamari Senator's recent drunk tirade.

The Chancellor nodded again in a satisfied way. It was about time they voted on something other than whose turn it was to go out for pizza. 'All in favour of creating an army to fight against the Separatists?'

Every one of the Senators except Padmé cheered and raised their hands. Her mouth fell open in horror. Hadn't they even listened to her speech?

But Palpatine wasn't finished. 'All in favour of _not _creating an army to fight against the Separatists?'

Everyone cheered and raised their hands again. Padmé leaned back in her seat, relieved, though admittedly a little confused.

Palpatine gazed around the room at the raised hands, feeling perplexed. He wasn't entirely sure what to do. In a stroke of genius, he decided it would be best to simply ignore it. This was his solution to most problems, including burglars, annoying porn popping up on his computer screen, and ex-wives.

'All in favour of going out to get donuts?'

There was the loudest cheer yet in response to this suggestion.

'That's a majority!' he cried, delighted. 'Motion passed!'

Palpatine glanced around him, looking for his gavel to whack on the lectern in front of him, then remembered he had lent it to his brother to deal with a rude employee at work. Instead, he seized one of the horns that sprouted out of the side of Mas Amedda's head, and slapped the lectern with it. Amedda moaned a little and rubbed the side of his aching head.

Padmé sighed angrily, boiling with frustration at her colleagues. They never took government seriously! There was a _ping_ from the instrument panel on her platform; Padmé looked down, frowning. It was probably just the automatic vending machine, she thought. However, she was exasperated to see that it was a message from the Chancellor reading, "Plz come 2 my office. Lost toenail clippers again."

Padmé flicked the switch that would cause the platform to return to its dock. To her considerable irritation, a small, stubborn beeping noise issued from the instrument panel, and the platform did not move. However, after she had growled a few threats, the platform assumed a terrified silence and floated obediently back into its dock. Once she had left the Senate, Padmé set off immediately for the Chancellor's office. No matter how disgusting and pointless another session trying to find the Chancellor's toenail clippers would be, it was necessary. Perhaps she would get some answers in between dodging flying bits of toenail.

**Yes, the next chapter will involve a search for the toenail clippers. What of it?**

**So what did you think? Please please review and tell me! I hope I made you laugh! **


	2. The Search For The Lost Toenail Clippers

**Sorry this chapter took a while to arrive, I forgot to update! :S Anywayy, I just realized that I also forgot to put a disclaimer in the last chapter, so here you are: I don't own any of the characters, plots or settings in this story, in fact I don't own anything except the crap I made up. Also, I don't own Victoria's Secret. **

**This chapter is a lot shorter than the first one, but I hope you like it!**

Chancellor Palpatine's office was a large, circular room in the topmost spire of the Senate complex, with a spectacular view of the sprawling city. Today, Palpatine was sitting at his wide desk in front of the huge windows, loudly chomping on donuts while several unfortunate Jedi Masters crawled around, searching for the lost toenail clippers.

'So, what's this Separatist war thing?' he asked in between bites. 'The Senators were discussing it, but it's the first I've heard of it.'

Mace Windu pulled his smooth, bald head out from under a nearby chair, his bad mood only increasing at Palpatine's ignorance. 'Chancellor, we've been telling you about it for months now!' He paused to stare wide-eyed at the subject of his speech, who was meticulously clipping his toenails with a red lightsaber. Noticing how everyone was staring at him, he asked innocently, 'What?'

Mace decided it would be counter-productive to make any remark whatsoever, and went back to groping around on the carpet. 'Do you think it will really come to war, Master Yoda?' he asked.

The diminutive, green Master Yoda, who was sitting in the rubbish bin, closed his eyes and felt the flow of the Force around him. In the distant future, he could see only blurry, indistinct shapes; nothing was certain. However, he was alarmed to see that Jedi Master Ki-Adi Mundi was going to accidentally steal his lunch.

'Impossible to see, the future of the war is,' he said wearily, shaking his head. 'But see other things, I did.' He glared suspiciously at Ki-Adi, who licked his lips nervously.

At that moment, Padmé stalked into the room, her brow furrowed in obvious annoyance. She immediately set to work upturning vases in the search for the toenail clippers. Yoda turned towards her with difficulty, thanks to his uncomfortable position in the bin. 'Sorry for your loss, I am,' he told her quietly.

Padmé glowered into a crystal vase. 'Yes, it was a very expensive bra.'

Everyone looked slightly apprehensive, except Ki-Adi, who was otherwise occupied with a slice of old pizza he had just pulled out from under the sofa.

'Uh…' croaked Yoda. 'Your handmaiden I meant.'

'Oh!' Padmé exclaimed, eyes widening in understanding. 'Cordé. Oh, yes. She was wearing my bra at the time.'

Yoda nodded uncomfortably, and they continued their search in silence. After a few minutes of turning the Chancellor's office upside down, Mace gave a cry of mingled disgust and delight; he had discovered the toenail clippers hanging off the ceiling fan. Not even wanting to think about how they'd got there, he returned them to the Chancellor's desk. Then, clearing his throat in an attempt to regain his characteristic dignified air, he said, 'We think disgruntled spice miners are behind the attack.'

Palpatine glanced up from his vigorous toenail clipping. 'What would spice miners want with my toenail clippers?'

Mace glared at him, breathing violently through his wide nostrils. 'No! I meant the explosion of Senator Amidala's space-' He fell abruptly silent as a rogue toenail clipping struck him on the side of the head.

Padmé shook her head, deep in thought. 'I think Count Dooku was behind it.'

Master Yoda and Mace exchanged skeptical looks. Count Dooku was a former Jedi who had left the Order many years ago, and was therefore an unlikely suspect, despite his involvement with the Separatists. Besides, he was over seventy years old; he was getting far too old to do much but sit around playing bingo.

Gingerly rubbing the spot where the toenail clipping had hit him, Mace snapped, 'What would you know? You're just a stupid politician!'

Palpatine decided that, as Chancellor, it was his responsibility to prevent his colleagues from killing each other. 'We should get you some bodyguards, Senator Amidala,' he said loudly.

Padmé's head whipped around to face Palpatine, who recoiled slightly. 'I already have eight bodyguards! All they do is drink my coffee and throw parties in my house!'

The Chancellor stared thoughtfully out the window at the towers and spires of Coruscant. 'How about if it was Obi-Wan Kenobi and his apprentice?'

Surprised at this suggestion, Padmé considered it seriously. Obi-Wan had been a good friend to her during the Naboo war, and it would be nice to see his apprentice as well. What was his name again? Allan? Adrian?

Sending a shower of toenail clippings everywhere, Palpatine stood up. 'It's settled then! I'll call them up.'

Relieved that he could finally get back to his important Jedi business, Mace walked over to the rubbish bin and extracted Yoda from amongst the mess of donuts, paper and broken glass. Ki-Adi Mundi finally managed to pull his double-domed head out from under a chair, and they moved eagerly towards the exit. As they reached the door, Mace turned to see that Palpatine was already on the phone.

'…And two supreme pizzas please. Thankyou.' He put the phone down and leaned back into his chair contentedly.

Mace growled. 'Idiot!'

He whirled round and marched out the door to his follicle appointment (he was trying to grow back his hair). Ki-Adi followed him on his way to wash the pizza out of his own sparse, grey hair, while Yoda hurried off to remove his lunch from the fridge before Ki-Adi could get to it.

Padmé sat down on a plush velvet couch to wait. Noticing that the room had gone strangely silent, she glanced over at Palpatine; he was snoring quietly with his head resting on his arms. She sighed, shaking her head, and walked over to the desk to contact Obi-Wan herself. What a bunch of idiots her colleagues were.

**Haha, I loved making Palpatine so stupid. I also love picking on Ki-Adi Mundi; there's plenty more where that came from. Please review, and tell me what you think! **


	3. So You Wanna Be A Bodyguard

**Sorry I haven't published any chapters for a while, I keep forgetting! I've been busy rewriting my parody of Revenge of the Sith… I'll probably publish that after I finish with this one. That may take a while though, if I keep forgetting to publish chapters.**

**I don't own anything to do with Star Wars etc, and I also don't own **_**Neighbours**_** (that is a terrible Australian soap opera, in case you don't know it).**

The turbolift came to a gentle halt, and the shiny durasteel door slid open. Anakin Skywalker followed his Master out of the lift, stepping onto soft red carpet. The young Jedi's palms were sweating with anticipation; he was about to meet Padmé Amidala again, after so many years. Anakin had been spellbound by her beauty and intelligence when he had first met her, back when he was just nine and she fourteen. If the pictures he had seen in those magazines were accurate, she was a hundred times better now that she was older.

The two Jedi walked along a hall and entered a large room that was filled with a variety of beings, all looking rather nervous and excited. Obi-Wan looked around apprehensively, and wondered aloud whether they had taken a wrong turn somewhere.

As they stood awkwardly in the entrance, a beautiful young woman who Obi-Wan recognized as Senator Amidala walked quickly towards them, wearing a fitted shimmersilk dress. Obi-Wan felt a rush of air as his apprentice's jaw dropped.

'Hello, Master Kenobi!' Padmé greeted him brightly, shaking his hand. 'And…you!' She looked distastefully at Anakin, who was leering suggestively at her and flexing his biceps. 'So, are you ready for the competition?' she continued, beaming.

Obi-Wan stared at her, his eyes filled with the kind of incomprehension that Padmé had only ever witnessed in the eyes of Senators before now. 'Competition?'

'Yeah, didn't anyone tell you?' she asked, frowning. 'You have to compete against all these other contenders to be my bodyguards! So, are you in?'

Before Obi-Wan could make any reply, Anakin yelled, 'ARE WE! We are so in, you won't even believe it!' He then looked expectantly at his Master, obviously seeking his agreement.

'Okay, okay, we'll enter the competition!' Obi-Wan sighed.

They were unable to speak anymore after that, as a cheesy theme song began to blare out of a nearby speaker. Padmé hurried away as an alien bounded onto the stage, wearing a version of the 'fun, excitable game-show host expressionTM' on each of his three heads. 'Hello and welcome to tonight's episode of _So You Wanna Be A Bodyguard!_' the host announced cheerfully. 'My name is Rodney DeWitt, and tonight, we're going to be finding the perfect bodyguard for this lovely lady here, Senator Amidala!'

The audience and contestants screamed and applauded as loudly as they could. A small commotion arose near the back of the room when one person screamed, 'Oh my God, I LOVE YOU SENATOR!' and fainted.

As a number of people began to fan the swooning man with napkins, Rodney's second head took the microphone. 'Yes, and before we begin, let's go over the rules of the game. Senator Amidala will watch your performances, and press a big buzzer if she thinks you suck! You must be over 5 years old to enter, and you can't have more than eight legs, because that's creepy.' All three heads glanced over accusingly at a group of beings with multiple limbs. 'That means you.'

The multi-legged beings got up and left, looking crestfallen. After they had all slouched out the door, Rodney continued his speech. 'And now, please welcome our first contender, Phil! He's a twenty-nine year old male and he's from the slums of Coruscant. Give him a hand, please!' There was polite applause as a scruffy-looking man came onto the stage.

'So, Phil, what makes you think you'd be the perfect bodyguard?' asked Rodney, beaming mechanically at the first contestant.

Phil blinked at the host through bloodshot eyes. 'Bodyguard? I thought you were giving out free food.'

Rodney laughed charmingly, seized Phil by the scruff of his neck and chucked him outside into the street. 'I forgot to mention, no hobos!'

The next contenders, a rowdy group of teenagers wearing baggy jeans and hoodies, walked up onto the stage. 'Okay,' said Rodney, regaining his toothy smile, 'Why do you guys think you're good for the job?'

'Well, like, we need some money, so, uh…' one boy began, but he stopped speaking when he became transfixed by the shiny pattern on Rodney's tie.

Another boy nodded slowly, while his companion reached out a hand to stroke the host's tie. 'We need some money to pay off our debts, man. Like, drugs cost a LOT these days-' The buzzer sounded; Padmé was an avid anti-drug campaigner.

Rodney leapt forward. 'And you're OUT! Sorry guys.'

The teenagers reluctantly walked off the stage, yelling, 'Dude! Like, we didn't even get to show you our beatboxing routine!'

The host said loudly, 'So, is there anyone in here with actual talent?'

For a few seconds, all of the contestants glanced around the room at each other. Then, a small number of hands floated up uncertainly. _I hate this job_, Rodney thought.

An hour later, Padmé still had not found a suitable bodyguard. They had seen juggling acts, flea circuses, acrobatics, but no single act really stood out above the rest. Well, Padmé had been pretty keen to take on the ventriloquist with the talking Darth Maul puppet. Unfortunately, he was quickly chased out of the room by a group of Qui-Gon fans, led by Obi-Wan. So they kept searching, through a myriad of contenders, ranging from mildly talented to just plain odd. Eventually, Rodney's perfectly controlled façade slipped. 'YOU PEOPLE ARE ALL LOSERS! I MISSED _NEIGHBOURS _FOR THIS!' he screamed. And he swung a punch at the latest contender, a startled fifteen-year-old whose dog could supposedly bark Beethoven's Twelfth Symphony. The boy fell backwards into the crowd, knocking over someone's drink, and a full-scale brawl erupted.

Anakin forced his way through the struggling crowd, and began to beat up anyone who went near Padmé, in a testosterone-fuelled attempt to protect her. Meanwhile, Obi-Wan grabbed the microphone off the host, who was downing glass after glass of champagne, and laughing, 'Not to worry, not to worry, they will all burn in hell!' He jumped onto the stage and yelled, 'STOP!'

Everyone froze in their extremely bizarre positions. 'Stop killing each other! Does it really matter? It's just a competition!'

To his utter astonishment, everyone released their strangleholds on each other and began to applaud. Padmé and Anakin climbed up onto the stage and the young Senator took the microphone. 'You two have shown me enough. Congratulations, you're my new bodyguards!'

Several beautiful blonde girls in sparkly minidresses walked out from behind the stage, carrying floral garlands and certificates. They kissed Obi-Wan on both cheeks, causing him to turn bright red and babble incomprehensibly, then moved on to Anakin. Obi-Wan quickly forgot his embarrassment when Anakin seized one of the girls and kissed her full on the mouth.

After the ceremony was concluded, they all trooped back to Padmé's apartment and held an impromptu party. At first, Padmé was perfectly satisfied with her new bodyguards, but began to regret her rash decision when she saw how they acted after a couple of glasses of champagne. It was impossible not to feel some thread of doubt while she watched Anakin write "Sexy Jedi Stud" on his Master's chest in indelible ink. What a pity she hadn't hired that ventriloquist while she had the chance.

**I will never understand why the Jedi Council thought that sending a teenage boy to look after a beautiful young Senator was a good idea. They certainly made some stupid decisions during the first three movies. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I'm sorry I keep forgetting to put the chapters up! **


	4. Shop Til You Drop

**Sorry I haven't been posting chapters! I've been distracted by my Star Wars III parody. If you're reading this story, make sure you check that one out as well! It doesn't exactly follow on from this story, though. **

The next day, Padmé found herself sitting cross-legged on the floor in her dressing room, amidst the entire contents of her wardrobe. She had a Senate session this afternoon, and she wanted to make a good impression, but unfortunately the most impressive gowns she owned appeared to have gone AWOL. Jumping up from her position on the floor, she stomped across the room, and almost ran into her handmaiden, Dormé, who was just coming through the door.

'Oops…sorry, M'lady,' Dormé said timidly, attempting to brush off Padmé's robes. Padmé pushed the girl's hand off irritably.

'You should be!' she snapped bitingly. 'Fetch me the Jedi!'

Dormé hurried off, almost in tears. Feeling slightly guilty that she had been so sharp with her handmaiden, Padmé slumped down onto her bed. A moment later, there was a tremendous crash from the direction of the window, followed by a thud. Padmé yelped and leapt up. Her eyes were immediately drawn to a large rock that was sitting in the middle of the carpet amidst a mess of broken glass. Then, she looked up and saw Anakin climbing carefully through the smashed window.

'What are you doing here?' she demanded, assessing the damage with dismay.

'You called for me,' Anakin replied matter-of-factly. He picked up the rock, took aim and flung it back out the window_._ There was a distant thud as the rock came into contact with Obi-Wan's head. Anakin smiled as he watched his Master collapse in a heap on the ground. Sometimes he was so completely awesome, he even surprised himself!

When he had heard Padmé ask for their presence, Anakin had quickly resolved to dispose of Obi-Wan, so that he could spend the day with the Senator, alone. The young Jedi grinned blissfully, contemplating all the chances he would have to admire Padmé's cleavage…

'Anakin!' Padmé called, frowning at the dopey grin on her bodyguard's face.

He jerked out of his reverie. 'Yes?'

'Why were you outside my window?' Padmé asked suspiciously.

'Because, I was uh… cleaning the window,' Anakin babbled. 'You know, as part of my bodyguard responsibilities.'

'Okay,' Padmé said slowly, deciding it was probably best not to question him any further. 'Where is Obi-Wan then?'

Anakin looked nervously out the window at Obi-Wan, who was still lying prostrate on the ground. 'He had an urgent call from his… gynaecologist,' he lied quickly, again putting to use his well-honed ability to invent excuses.

Padmé blushed, and stammered, 'Uh… okay, so I need to go shopping. You'll have to come, to protect me.'

'Sure, sure, I'll come,' Anakin said eagerly. He would gladly do anything to spend some time with Padmé.

'Great! I'll just go and get ready, then.'

To a young Jedi like Anakin, 'getting ready' meant throwing on his robes, and then arranging his Padawan braid so that it looked casually windswept, but not _too _messy. Little did he know that, for a female Senator, 'getting ready' meant two hours of intensive cleansing, moisturising, and exfoliating. Not to mention the extra hour Padmé spent ignoring him and making little huffing noises when Anakin asked if she could perhaps speed things up a little. They did eventually manage to reach the shops, where Padmé perused the racks of expensive clothes, while Anakin perused the… er, other racks. After half an hour, all the shopping had made Padmé a little thirsty, so she walked out of the shop, signaling Anakin to follow at a discreet distance.

As she was sipping a caramel latte, Padmé noticed the pot plant across the room appeared to be inching closer to her table. Feeling a little frightened, she beckoned to Anakin to come and sit in the chair next to hers. As her bodyguard sat down, Padmé hissed, 'That pot plant is moving. I think there's someone in it!'

Anakin nodded understandingly, sipping his lemonade. 'Yes, it may well be.'

Suddenly the pot plant lurched forward, and a woman dressed in a full catsuit jumped out, firing her blaster several times in Padmé's direction. Padmé screamed and dived under the table, knocking her latte to the floor.

Anakin nodded thoughtfully and said, 'You're right, there is definitely something suspicious about her.'

Padmé gritted her teeth furiously, shielding her face with her arms as the assassin continued to fire energy bolts around the café. 'Well, do something about it!'

The young Jedi set his drink down, got up and hit a pretty blonde waitress over the head with a salt shaker.

'You have the right to remain silent!' Anakin said loudly as the waitress slumped to the floor, unconscious.

Padmé looked disbelievingly at him. When she had agreed to have a bodyguard, she had not bargained on this. It was time to take matters into her own hands.

The Senator leaped out of her seat and grabbed a blaster from another customer's belt. She fired several times in the assassin's direction, and the woman fell backwards, bleeding from her torso.

Anakin, who was crouched beside the unfortunate waitress, beckoned to Padmé. She stepped gingerly over the broken glass and splinters of wood, and crouched beside him.

'You see this wound?' Anakin said, indicating the large bruise that he had inflicted on the girl's forehead. 'It was definitely made by some large, blunt instrument-'

Padmé seized Anakin's arm and dragged him to his feet. 'Look!' she snapped, pointing at the body of the assassin.

Anakin stared at the woman for a few moments, looking pleasantly surprised that all the work had been done for him. 'Ah, good job M'lady! Now… let's go back to the Temple. We need to find out who this assassin is. But how?' He looked down at a man who was cowering underneath a nearby table, and asked his opinion on the matter.

'Okay, let's go!' Padmé snapped. 'The Jedi Council must know about this!'

'Yes, of course! Tally-ho!' Anakin cried in a terrible English accent. He set off towards the exit at a very quick pace, leaping over tables and chairs with reckless abandon.

Padmé followed more slowly, resisting the impulse to throw a shard of glass at her bodyguard's retreating back. When next she raised her eyes, she was exasperated to see Anakin leaning against the wall near the exit, interrogating a middle-aged woman.

'Where were you at five o'clock yesterday afternoon?' he demanded. 'Don't try to lie; the walls have eyes! I mean ears!'

Apologising profusely to the confused woman, Padmé took a firm grip on Anakin's arm and pulled him out the door.

'That's the last time I take you on a shopping trip!'

**I will start publishing chapters more regularly, I promise! Next chapter: Anakin and Padmé take a bit of a side trip on their way to Naboo.**


	5. Viva Las Vegas

**Fifth chapter! Sorry it's taking so long for me to post this story… I'm going to start posting more regularly, I promise! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars, and I definitely don't own **_**Playboy.**_

When Padmé had finished describing the day's events to the Jedi Council, there was a short silence, while the Jedi Masters exchanged grave looks. This latest attack on Padmé's life was deeply concerning, but then again, so was Anakin's erratic behavior. The Council elders instructed Anakin and Padmé to discreetly turn their backs while they discussed the issue.

'An idiot, Skywalker is!' Yoda croaked loudly, secretly hoping that Anakin could hear him. 'Expelled from the Order he must be!'

Mace nodded vigorously. 'Yes! That's exactly what I said the minute I saw him!'

'No it's not!' Ki-Adi amended. 'The first thing you said was that you liked his haircut!'

Mace blushed and muttered a half-hearted denial under his breath.

'Anyway,' Ki-Adi resumed. 'I've thought of a better idea. We should send Skywalker to Naboo with Senator Amidala. What punishment could be worse than that?'

The Council members nodded thoughtfully, contemplating the many horrors Anakin would face if he were to spend a few weeks alone with a young Senator. This idea had its merits. However…

'I have an even better idea!' Mace said. 'Let's just drop him out the window and be done with it!'

'More merits, that idea has,' Yoda agreed, eyeing the wide, curved expanse of glass behind his chair shrewdly.

'No, we must bide our time!' Ki-Adi insisted. 'Lull him into a false sense of security, then strike.'

The members of the Council all looked to Master Yoda for the final decision. Yoda thought quietly for a moment, then raised his head and declared in a voice that allowed no arguments, 'Right, Ki-Adi is. Take Senator Amidala back to her home planet Skywalker will.'

'Fine,' Mace snapped, disappointed that he would not get the chance to kill Anakin. Well, not today, anyway. 'Skywalker, turn around!'

Yoda surveyed Anakin gravely, and croaked, 'C is for Cookie, and cookie is for me!'

There was a stunned silence, as everyone in the room stared at the tiny Jedi Master. Yoda quickly realised his mistake.

'Oops, sorry! My other show that is!' he said hurriedly. Yoda cleared his throat and returned to his serious tone. 'Skywalker, go to Naboo you must.'

'Okey-dokey!' Anakin said cheerfully. He swung a grumbling Padmé round and skipped out the door. The Jedi Council watched them leave, shaking their heads, and hoped fervently that some horrible tragedy would befall the pair.

The next day, Obi-Wan, Typho and Dormé met on a nearby landing platform to farewell Anakin and Padmé, who were leaving for Naboo that morning. Obi-Wan was unsuccessfully trying to hide his concern at Anakin embarking on his first solo mission. It may have seemed to an outsider that this was due to a fatherly concern for his apprentice, but in actual fact, he was simply certain that he would get the blame when something went drastically wrong.

After a few moments of silent worry, he turned to Typho and muttered, 'This was the wrong decision. He is not ready.'

Typho looked slightly annoyed that Obi-Wan was speaking to him, but he couldn't help but agree with the Jedi. They both turned to watch Anakin, who was wearing a huge trench coat and dark sunglasses. He was also staring shiftily through two eyeholes he had cut into the front page of his newspaper. Supposedly, he was 'keeping a low profile', but his conspicuous appearance was actually having the opposite effect, and he was attracting a lot of stares.

Anakin's low-profile-keeping was mercifully interrupted by the arrival of their transport, which, much to Padmé's disgust, did not look like it would have masseurs and hairstylists on board.

Feeling extremely nervous, Obi-Wan approached his apprentice, who was beside himself with excitement now that his first mission had officially begun. But before the Jedi Master could reach Anakin to give his apprentice the traditional sex, drugs and alcohol talk, he had seized Padmé and leaped into the ship.

Once he had recovered from their rough landing on the duracrete floor of the ship, Anakin stood up and brushed himself off. His leap of faith had left Padmé whimpering pitifully on the floor. Ignoring her plaintive little cries, Anakin surveyed the interior of the cabin. It was dimly-lit and definitely not five-star. There were also a great deal of strange beings, many of whom were wearing feathered costumes and smoking like chimneys.

'Wow,' Anakin remarked. 'Naboo sure is importing more crossdressers than it used to.'

Padmé extricated herself from the clutches of a seedy-looking man who was wearing what appeared to be a pineapple on his head, and took a look for herself. She had to admit that there certainly were an unusual amount of crossdressers.

'Hmm,' she said, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Anakin swept a number of cigarette butts and Elvis wigs off a nearby seat, and sat down gingerly. Padmé squeezed in next to him. Due to the uncomfortable and awkward position they were currently in, she decided it would be a good idea to start a conversation.

'So,' she began, 'are you looking forward to seeing Naboo again?'

Anakin nodded enthusiastically. 'Oh, yes. I really liked it last time I was there. Best hardware stores I've ever been to.'

Padmé laughed nervously, uncertain of the appropriate response to this statement. 'Uh… yeah. It might have changed a little though.'

'Yeah. You've certainly changed.' Anakin threw a furtive glance at her décolletage.

This effectively discouraged Padmé from making any more efforts at conversation. She maintained a cold silence until they stepped onto the landing platform at their destination. At this point, even Padmé could not continue giving her companion the silent treatment; she was too shocked by their surroundings. The night sky was completely obscured by flashing neon lights and signs, and every second building was either a nightclub or a marriage chapel.

Anakin blinked furiously, overwhelmed by the colour and noise. 'Hey, you were right! It has changed!'

'It hasn't changed, Anakin!' Padmé snapped, still looking disbelievingly around her. 'This isn't Naboo!'

She took a deep, steadying breath, and forced herself to think clearly through her anger. Padmé decided the first thing she should do was find out what planet they had accidentally found themselves on. So she turned to a slightly inebriated being beside her, who was being plied with drinks by a crossdresser.

'Excuse me,' she asked the being. 'What planet are we on?'

The man squinted, attempting to focus on one of the three identical women he saw in front of him. After a few moments, he gave up and simply looked down at his drink. 'I dunno baby, but I've been here for three weeks now and I haven't found the model boating convention. But I'm having a fine old time, honey!' He giggled madly and tried to sit down, but missed his seat and landed heavily on the ground.

Padmé sighed and walked away. There had to be someone here who was sober, she reasoned. As she looked around, her gaze was caught by the doorman of a nearby nightclub.

Fixing on a comfortable and attractive smile, she walked over to the man and waited until he had finished letting through a group of Elvis impersonators.

'Yes, yes, yes, come through,' he muttered as the men filed past him. 'Yes, yes, hey wait a minute!' He flung out an arm in front of a being with three heads. 'Sorry, you'll have to come through one at a time.'

The alien looked outraged. 'But I'm one person with three heads!'

'OH!' The doorman's brow furrowed in confusion. 'Well, come through then.'

Padmé quickly seized the opportunity to grab the doorman's attention.

'Excuse me, but what planet am I on?' she asked, smiling sweetly.

The doorman nodded understandingly. He got about four of these people per hour. 'You're on Vegas, ma'am.'

Padmé gaped at him for a minute, shock overcoming her politeness. 'Vegas?' she sputtered. 'As in the gambling planet?'

When the doorman nodded curtly, she forced her jaw back up and stalked back over to where Anakin had been standing, but he had disappeared. Padmé shoved her way through the crowd, her rage increasing with every second. She knew exactly where he would be.

Sure enough, she found Anakin sitting at the bar with a whiskey, surrounded by very hideous women and looking the picture of contentment. Padmé's blood boiled. _How dare he take me, an important Senator, to a gambling planet? _she thought furiously.

'ANAKIN!' she screamed. The object of her rage jumped and spilled his drink all over his lap.

'What, what?' Anakin asked hurriedly, brushing several girls in feather codpieces away from him.

'WE GOT ON THE WRONG SHIP!'

While this interesting spectacle was taking place, Obi-Wan was on his way to the Jedi archives. A poison dart had been discovered on the body of Padmé's attempted assassin. Obi-Wan was sure that, if he could identify the origin of this dart, he would find the answers he needed.

The archive room was hushed, the researching Jedi quietly going about their business. Obi-Wan walked purposefully towards a free archive cubicle and pulled the curtain aside. He gave a strangled yell and leaped backwards when he was confronted by the sight of two Jedi making out passionately.

'Sorry, sorry!' he muttered to the Jedi, who did not appear to have noticed him. As he yanked the curtain closed, he spun round to see if anyone else's eyes had been assaulted by this scene. Dozens of people were glaring angrily at him from inside other archive cubicles.

'Be quiet!' they hissed angrily. 'We're researching.'

'Researching my ass,' Obi-Wan muttered. He stalked off to another cubicle, checking carefully that it was unoccupied before he went inside.

Once he was certain it was empty, he pulled the curtain across and sat down. The analysis droid swiveled to face him.

'Hello. My name is Carlos. Can I help you?' it asked in what could only be described as a wearied voice.

Obi-Wan stuck the poison dart into the droid's analysis bank and said, 'I'd like to get this dart identified.'

Carlos looked at him in a hostile way. 'I'm very depressed today. My girlfriend dumped me, you see. She broke my central processing unit.'

Obi-Wan blinked at the droid. _I can't believe it!_ he thought. _Even the analysis droid has a girlfriend. I really have to get out more. _

He dismissed this matter from his mind, and resumed speaking. 'That's terrible, but could you-'

'No,' Carlos said flatly. 'I'm afraid I'm just not in the mood.'

Obi-Wan blinked again. 'Oh. Well, I'll just… find someone else then.'

'Thanks for your understanding,' Carlos sighed, and shot himself in the head.

Obi-Wan quickly removed his dart from the smoking droid and ran out of the archive room. Who else did he know who could identify darts? Or rather, who else did he know who was not a suicidal analysis droid? A name immediately jumped into his head: Hugh Hefner. No… that wasn't right. He tried again. This time, the name of an old friend floated through his mind: Dexter.

Obi-Wan paused on the steps of the Temple to consider this idea. Dexter wasn't the creator of _Playboy_, but he might know something about darts. He walked quickly onto the street, trying to look innocent, just as the body of Carlos was dragged out of the archive room by paramedics.

**Please review if you're reading and tell me what you think so far! I love receiving feedback (either positive or negative) from readers. **


	6. When A Man Loves A Woman

**This is the first time I have ever been able to remember to regularly publish chapters for my stories! Yay! Haha my memory is terrible… I usually forget what TV show I'm watching during the ad breaks. Anyway.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own blah blah blah. Also don't own "Sweet Home Alabama".**

Obi-Wan's search for Dexter led him to a dim, grimy alley, where dozens of wary eyes watched him from inside crumbling houses. Dexter owned a diner in this area, but Obi-Wan couldn't fathom why his old friend would want to live in this dump. As he turned a corner, he found himself facing a run-down diner, whose gloomy exterior was brightened slightly by a neon sign. Almost all the letters had burned out, so that the sign now spelled an obscene word. Obi-Wan was staring at it, trying to figure out whether this was deliberate or not, when Dexter himself came out of the door, his wide face split by a huge grin.

Dexter greeted Obi-Wan enthusiastically and hugged him, squeezing him a little too tight for comfort. He was tall and enormously fat, with four arms and mottled skin. Obi-Wan knew that, despite his slightly grotesque appearance, he was very popular with women.

Inside, the diner was immaculately maintained, with gleaming durasteel surfaces and bright red booths arranged around the walls. The old friends slid into an empty booth near the back of the room, away from prying eyes. Dexter ordered drinks from a droid waitress, who almost fainted when Dexter complimented her on her hair.

'Oh, you!' she squealed delightedly. However, her smile quickly faded as she became confused. 'Hey, wait, I don't have hair.'

As the waitress moved away, Dexter turned back to his old friend.

'So, what can I do for you?' he asked, folding his massive hands together on the table.

Obi-Wan pulled the dart out of his pocket, cleared the lint off it, and handed it to Dexter. 'I need some help identifying this dart,' he said. 'The analysis droid at the Temple wouldn't analyse it for me. It had just been through a bad breakup.'

Dexter shook his head gravely. 'If I had a dollar for every time I've met a manically depressed droid… anyway, it's a Kamino sabredart.'

Obi-Wan sat back in his chair, feeling slightly disappointed. He had been harbouring a secret hope that Dexter would not be able to identify the manufacturers of the dart, so that he wouldn't have to go on a mission.

'How can you tell?' he asked, trying to hide his annoyance.

Dexter raised his eyebrows. 'It's written on the side.'

He pointed out a very obvious inscription on the side of the dart with one of his enormous fingers. The inscription read, 'Property of planet Kamino. If found, please don't kill us.'

Obi-Wan blushed. _How could I not have noticed that?_ Wishing to conceal his embarrassment, he seized the strange purple drink in front of him and took a long sip.

Within twenty minutes, both of them were leglessly drunk.

'Hey, Dex,' Obi-Wan slurred. 'I gotta go see Master Yoda about something, but I don't remember what it is.'

Dexter was silent for a minute as he struggled to frame a coherent thought. 'That the dart is from Kamino?'

'Oh, yeah, that's it.'

Obi-Wan resolved to go and see him immediately, with Dexter tagging along for moral support. They stumbled into the Jedi Temple, ignoring the stunned gazes of other Jedi, and smashed open the door to Yoda's office. The ancient Jedi Master was teaching a class of Younglings, but he stopped speaking as they came in, his gaze wide and affronted. Obi-Wan waved cheerfully at the surprised Younglings, and walked a little unsteadily over to Yoda. He began the important task of reporting the information he had gained on the dart, but lost his thread fairly quickly.

'Did I ever tell you about the time I won the Outlander Karaoke Contest?'

Yoda sighed. This was Obi-Wan's standard story; he told it every time he was drunk, uncomfortable or bored. 'Yes many times,' the Jedi Master muttered.

Meanwhile, Dexter was standing, swaying slightly but determined, and instructing the Younglings on how to seduce a woman. The Younglings were sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him, and listening attentively.

'Never buy her flowers on the first date,' Dexter advised. 'Something like a really expensive bra is a good choice… you see, when a man loves a woman-'

He was forced to postpone his sex talk, as Obi-Wan had just caused a commotion by jumping up onto a table and demonstrating to Yoda precisely how he had sung 'Sweet Home Alabama' at the karaoke contest. When he had finished his performance, he stood there swaying.

'And then this guy said, he said, 'Go back to Alabama, we don't want you here!''

Obi-Wan giggled madly and accidentally knocked a vase with his flailing arms; it rolled to the floor and smashed.

'…and that's how you get a woman to go on a date with you,' Dexter concluded. 'Any questions?'

He surveyed the small group of Younglings. One little boy put up his hand. Dexter nodded encouragingly at him.

Lowering his hand, the little boy asked shyly, 'Can I go to the bathroom?'

Dexter sighed and shook his head. 'I meant RELEVANT questions. Jeez! Lucky I'm here to help these kids.'

Yoda more or less lost control at this point. 'OUT GET!' he screeched.

Dexter grinned. 'Sure, little guy,' he muttered, as he attempted to pat Yoda on the head, lost his balance and toppled over. He immediately curled into a ball and began to snore loudly. Sensing that his presence was no longer welcome, Obi-Wan jumped down from the table and lurched towards the door.

Yoda's eye began to twitch. He lifted up his gimer stick, and brought it down, hard, upon Dexter's backside. The huge alien howled and leaped up. Yoda grinned savagely; he always enjoyed doing that, especially to Ki-Adi Mundi.

'I think I'm gonna be sick,' Dexter muttered, stumbling from the room.

Yoda turned back to his Younglings, who were staring wide-eyed at their Master. 'What learned today, have we?' he asked, hoping something good had at least come from this disaster.

A little Youngling wandered over to where Yoda was standing breathing very hard and looking murderous.

'Master?' the little boy asked.

'Yes, Bobby?'

'I know where people come from. You see, when a man loves a woman…'

**When I first typed out the name of this chapter, I accidentally wrote "When A Man Loves A Man". An innocent but amusing mistake.**


	7. What Happens On Vegas

**Sorry I haven't published any chapters for a while, I got distracted by college applications, and True Blood. Seriously, have any of you guys watched that show? It is SO GOOD. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars or ABBA. Also, I stole the chapter's name from that movie What Happens In Vegas, or whatever it's called.**

At first, Padmé was furious about the planet mix-up. However, after the first week, she actually started to enjoy herself; she even got involved in Elvis impersonation contests. Anakin was having an even better time. They had acquired a hotel room directly above a nightclub, where Anakin spent most of his time drinking, gambling and generally doing illegal things that would make Master Yoda cry.

One night, they were spending a typical evening sitting at the bar, sipping their drinks and watching a karaoke contest. Anakin was casting furtive sidelong glances at Padmé, who was pretending not to notice. After half an hour of uncomfortable silence, Anakin decided it was time to take action.

'So… do you like, uh… dancing?' he stammered idiotically.

Padmé set her drink down and gave Anakin a withering look. What was he going on about?

Anakin blushed and stammered. 'Uh, so… oh, what the hell.'

And he seized Padmé and kissed her very hard on the lips. What he did not anticipate was her reaction.

Padmé screamed and shoved Anakin off, causing him to topple backwards off his stool. As she sprinted out of the club, shrieking 'SEXUAL HARASSMENT!' at the top of her lungs, Anakin dragged himself back onto his seat.

The nightclub was filled with a profound silence as everyone stopped what they were doing to stare at Anakin. Even the karaoke singers stopped singing ABBA songs and gazed open-mouthed in his direction. His face burning, the young Jedi seized his drink and drained it in one gulp. When the patrons of the nightclub did not turn away and return to their business, Anakin decided he would have to say something to lighten the atmosphere.

'Hehe… women. Touchy, you know.'

Obi-Wan had a terrible hangover. Unfortunately, he was not lying on his couch at the Jedi Temple, drinking mineral water and watching daytime television. Instead, he was on his way to the planet of Kamino, where he hoped to discover the truth behind the assassination attempt on Senator Amidala.

Just as he was contemplating turning around and getting an aspirin from a nearby planet, the blue-green orb of Kamino came into view.

As the ship descended down through the atmosphere, the viewscreen was splattered with huge raindrops. Obi-Wan sighed and shook his head. There was nothing worse than rain when you had a headache. He brought the ship in to land on a soaking wet platform, and hurried towards the nearest building, shoulders hunched against the rain and wind.

When Obi-Wan slipped through the doors into the warm interior of the building, he was first struck by how white everything was. The second thing he was struck by was a large vase. Obi-Wan shrieked and dropped to the floor, shielding his head with his arms. What sort of vile beings was he about to contend with? He looked up, and was surprised to see a tall, pale-skinned, long-necked alien leaning over him looking slightly sheepish.

'Sorry,' said the alien. 'I wasn't expecting any visitors today, so I, uh…'

He gestured helplessly at the offending vase. 'I've been taking self defence lessons,' he added proudly.

'I see,' Obi-Wan gasped, lurching to his feet and rubbing his head, which was now hurting even worse than before.

Another being of the same species entered the room and joined them. This one appeared to be female, although Obi-Wan knew from experience that it was best never to simply assume.

'Welcome to Kamino, Master Kenobi,' the alien greeted him in a cool, calming voice. 'My name is Taun We.'

Obi-Wan grinned appreciatively. 'HAHA! Good one!' Perhaps this mission would not be so boring after all; his day was definitely beginning to improve.

The two aliens glanced at each other, their pale foreheads wrinkling slightly in confusion. Jedi were certainly very odd people.

'Right,' muttered the alien who had hit Obi-Wan. 'I am Lama Su.'

'HA! Hahahahahaha! You guys kill me!'

Obi-Wan chuckled, wiping tears from his eyes. He had always found people with stupid names to be very amusing. In fact, it was for this reason that he often sought out the company of Jedi Master Yarael Poof.

Lama Su could not help but feel a little alarmed. He wondered whether it was too late to hit the Jedi again, or if that would now be considered inappropriate.

'Uh… thankyou?' he said uncertainly. 'I suppose you are here to see the clone army?'

Lama Su looked expectantly at Obi-Wan, who stared blankly back at him. Silence reigned for several long moments, during which Lama Su argued with himself the pros and cons of knocking the Jedi out immediately.

'Clone army? What clone army?'

'You know, the clone army.' The portion of Lama Su's brain that wanted to hit Obi-Wan appeared to be winning the argument. He jabbed his finger sharply at a poster on the wall behind him, which displayed the slogan, "Clones: the answer to all of the Galaxy's problems!"

'Which clone army?' Obi-Wan asked patiently.

Lama Su's hand began creeping towards the vase. Taun We decided it was high time she contributed to the conversation; she was really getting sick of the phrase 'clone army'.

'Look, I'll show you…'

She strode over to a panel on the opposite side of the corridor, and flicked a switch. There was a groaning, shuddering sound, and a huge metal shutter that had previously been resting silently on the wall shot up. Obi-Wan gazed through the viewscreen that had been concealed behind the shutter, and gasped. A huge army of men clad in white armour was marching back and forth across the duracrete floor of the hangar below, led by their commanders.

'Oh, THAT clone army.'

Obi-Wan cast a disdainful eye over the army. _It's really not as big as I thought it would be_, the evil side of his brain gloated, adding a derogatory comment about the necks of the cloners. The slightly kinder side of his brain sighed, and pointed out that Obi-Wan had not known the clone army existed until five minutes ago. Both sides began to shout at each other, and a full-scale brawl soon erupted, causing Obi-Wan to go into a kind of stupor.

'This is the assembly area,' Taun We informed him from a galaxy far, far away. 'The clones are training, as you can see.'

She flicked another switch that allowed the distant shouts of the clones to become audible. With some difficulty, Obi-Wan silenced the sounds of the fight in his head and leaned forward to listen. He was slightly surprised to hear that the clones were chanting, "I don't know but I've been told" as they marched. The fight in Obi-Wan's head abruptly ceased as both sides of his brain stopped biting each other and began to sing along. _That slogan was right_, Obi-Wan thought, _clones really can solve any problem!_

As he had finally succeeded in overcoming his urge to hit Obi-Wan, Lama Su then asked in a relatively cheerful tone, 'Would you like to meet some clones?'

Obi-Wan nodded enthusiastically. It seemed very likely that these clones were somehow implicated in the plot to assassinate Senator Amidala; he needed to gain some more information on them. Besides, if the clones really were the answer to every problem, surely they would be able to advise him on which hairstyle to try next.

Lama Su activated a loud-speaker. 'Gamma 342, 344 and 343, please report to Sector Four immediately.'

The three clones walked in a few minutes later, all looking slightly nervous, as though they were naughty children in a school principal's office.

'Hi!' they said in unison. 'We're three average, mild-mannered clones.'

Obi-Wan gaped at them; the clones fiddled uncomfortably with their helmets. 'Oh my God! You guys all look the same!' he said eventually, thunderstruck.

'Yes,' said Lama Su testily, 'that is the point of a clone. They are exact copies of their original host.'

'And we have built-in juicers!' chirped the clones brightly. One of them pressed a button on his chest; an expensive-looking juicer popped out. The clone produced an orange from a storage cavity in his armour and pushed it into the juicer.

'Fancy!' remarked one of the other clones, admiring the juicer's shiny chrome surface.

'And functional!' the third clone added.

Obi-Wan declined the cup of orange juice that the first clone was now offering to him, and turned to Lama Su. 'I would like to meet this host.'

This was all very suspicious, from his point of view. He certainly wasn't an expert on the subject of cloning (or on any subject, for that matter), but there was something strange about this particular army. Perhaps the clones' original host would give him some answers.

Taun We nodded, and spoke quietly into the intercom system for a few moments.

A short time later, an imposing man wearing Mandalorian battle armour walked into the room. He was identical to the clones, except for the jagged scars that marred his features.  
'This is Jango Fett!' Taun We said brightly, resting a thin, pale hand on the man's arm. 'He's a bounty hunter.'

Obi-Wan gazed at Jango, who stared defiantly back.

'A bounty hunter, eh?' Obi-Wan asked suspiciously. 'Been to Coruscant lately?'

'Maybe,' Jango replied, one side of his mouth rising slightly in a smirk.

'Tried to kill any Senators lately?' Obi-Wan inquired bluntly, earning him several startled glances from the clones. Here was a guy who really needed some juice.

Much to everyone's surprise, Jango appeared to seriously consider the question. 'Hmm… I'll check my schedule.'

He searched through his pockets, pulling out used tissues and massive guns until he found a small red book. Flipping through it, he soon located his schedule.

'Oh…' Jango pointed to an entry from several weeks ago. 'Yes, it's written down right here! How 'bout that!'

'AHA!' yelled Obi-Wan triumphantly. Taun We jumped and slopped her orange juice all down her front. 'So you were the guy who hired the pot plant guy to assassinate Senator Amidala!'

Jango shrugged, smiling vaguely. 'I must be. It's written down right here.' He pointed to the entry again, which read, "Tuesday: Kill Senator Amidala. Buy eggs".

'That's very organised,' remarked one of the clones. 'I need to get me one of those.'

It was very unusual that a suspect would be willing to "come quietly", but Jango was very cooperative. He even assisted Obi-Wan in working out how to use the handcuffs. As he led the bounty hunter out onto the slippery landing platform, Obi-Wan couldn't help smiling smugly. This had turned out to be a very good day; no battles, no difficult negotiations, and he had discovered a secret clone army with minimal effort! To make matters even better, Jango revealed as they were en route to Coruscant that he also possessed a built-in juicer. Yes, things were definitely looking up.

**I would LOVE to have a built-in juicer. It would be so convenient!**

**Next chapter: Anakin goes back to where he came from.**


	8. Complications

**I'm a huge Doctor Who fan, so there's a reference to it in this chapter. In case you guys don't watch it, I just thought I'd explain that the Doctor travels in a blue police box called the Tardis, which is way bigger inside than it looks on the outside. It even has a swimming pool, apparently.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars, Doctor Who or American/Australian Idol.**

On Vegas, things were going rather well. Padmé was enjoying the sights and sounds of the planet; Anakin was having the time of his life drinking himself into a stupor. One night, about two weeks after they arrived, Padmé was looking forward to getting a good night's sleep, after hours of rigorous karaoke practice. Unfortunately, the minute she dropped off to sleep, Anakin burst into the hotel room and shook her awake. Padmé's dream about winning Coruscant Idol was rudely interrupted by the sight of Anakin leaning over her looking absolutely terrified.

'What the-' she gasped, sitting up groggily in bed.

'Padmé, we have to leave now,' Anakin said as he leaped up and rushed over to her wardrobe. 'Get dressed. I'll help you.'

'No, thanks,' Padmé yawned. It was far too early in the morning for this. 'Why do we have to leave?' The look on Anakin's face made her suspect that he had done something very bad. Perhaps he had picked a fight with the wrong person, or stolen someone's Elvis wig.

Anakin looked nervous and shifty as he sifted through her underwear drawer. 'Uh… I'll tell you later. Now, which bra would you like, the red lacy one or the-'

Padmé catapulted herself across the room and snatched her undergarments from the hands of the stricken Jedi. 'Anakin, tell me what you did!'

'Okay, okay,' he sighed. 'I started a drinking game with some guys.'

'Oh, no.' Padmé knew from experience that this statement would never be followed by good news.

'Yes, and the other guy won. That's why I can't walk straight.' Anakin grabbed hold of Padmé's shoulder to keep himself steady, but hurriedly let go when she hit him with her bra.

'Get on with it!' Padmé snapped.

'And… the other guy said I owed him money because he bet that I would pass out first. And I don't have a thousand credits, so I ran. They're coming after me!' The Jedi looked furtively at the door, then flung himself across the room and dived into the wardrobe.

'Oh, great!' Padmé snarled. 'Where are we going to run to?'

Anakin emerged from the wardrobe, wearing one of Padmé's cloaks and a pair of enormous pink sunglasses. 'I have a plan.'

Padmé stared at him warily. Anakin's plans never worked; they usually ended up on some far-distant planet, up to their knees in frogs.

'No way am I going anywhere with you!' Padmé said defiantly.

Two hours later, Anakin and Padmé disembarked from a dingy airbus at Mos Eisley spaceport, on Anakin's home planet of Tatooine. As soon as they stepped into the open air, their faces were stung with tiny grains of sand which had been stirred up by the breeze. Shielding their eyes with their hands, Padmé and Anakin looked around them. The port was crowded with strange aliens, none of whom looked friendly. It was exactly the way Anakin remembered it.

He glanced sideways at Padmé, and immediately looked away again, wincing. She was wearing a cloak made of some metallic material, and when the harsh sunlight caught it, the cloak became unbearably bright. Anakin suspected this was why they were attracting so many stares… although that could also be due to the fact that he had forgotten to remove the pink sunglasses.

Assuming Anakin was simply being rude, Padmé huffed angrily and folded her arms. 'Let's go and find somewhere to stay in this dump.'

'Actually, I was thinking I might look for my mother,' Anakin said thoughtfully.

They joined the throng of people who were crowded into the main street, and fought their way through a bustling marketplace. As they were passing a small parts shop, Anakin stopped abruptly; the proprietor of the store, an old Toydarian, was very familiar.

'Hey, Watto!' Anakin grinned down at the small, blue alien with rapidly-beating wings.

Watto started visibly at the sound of Anakin's voice, and dropped the part he was polishing.

'Remember me?' Anakin grinned again. 'Hey, do you know where my mother is?'

Watto's eyes darted up and down the young man's body; obviously he did not recognize him. His eyes came to rest on the lightsaber at Anakin's belt, and he started again.

'Drugs? What drugs?' The fat, blue alien quickly shoved several small bags of white powder into a drawer. 'I don't know nothing about no drugs!' And he dived into a bin filled with spare parts.

'My shop is closed now,' he added, his voice slightly muffled as there was a lot of oil in his mouth.

Anakin exchanged a confused glance with Padmé. 'Uh, actually, I was just asking you whether you know where my mother is.'

Watto's head popped out of the bin, followed by the rest of him. 'Ohhh… so it's nothing to do with drugs? Hahahahahahahaha HA!'

Still chuckling nervously, Watto sat back down on his stool, and slid the drawer back open. 'Anyway, the powder costs 80 wupiupi for a bag, and-'

'I'm not here to buy drugs!' Anakin snapped impatiently. 'Well, not right now, anyway. Do you know where my mother is living?'

Watto looked slightly disappointed to discover he was not going to be making a profit, but he nodded and pulled out a worn durasheet. 'Yeah, I've got her address right here.' Anakin took the durasheet eagerly.

'I've been sending her drugs,' Watto added, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

Padmé folded her arms angrily. If Watto didn't stop talking about drugs, she was going to give him her anti-drugs lecture. Hopefully now that Anakin knew where to go, she could relax and work on her suntan.

Meanwhile on Coruscant, important Jedi business was unfolding. Obi-Wan and Jango, who had by now become fast friends, arrived back at the Temple, where the bounty hunter was to be interrogated. Naturally, the Jedi Council elected to send their best man into the interrogation room: Mace Windu. During the interrogation, Jango told Mace all about his vacation on Gala, his colonoscopy results, and the latest antics of his son. Finally, Mace lost his head, and had to leave for a "weekend away from it all". He was replaced by, of all people, Obi-Wan. However, despite everyone's low expectations, Obi-Wan managed to ascertain almost immediately that they needed to go to Geonosis.

It took Obi-Wan a long time to find any trace of human activity, but he finally spotted a vehicle heading towards a large cavern. He landed his ship on a rocky outcrop, and activated his comlink to inform Anakin of his findings. Come to think of it, what had happened to Anakin? He hadn't heard any news from him so far.

Obi-Wan was infuriated to discover that his apprentice's signal was coming from Tatooine. What the Force was he doing there? Knowing Anakin, it would be something illegal and irrelevant to the mission.

Muttering angrily, Obi-Wan jumped out of the cockpit, and stalked over to a phone box that had inexplicably appeared out of nowhere. Obi-Wan slipped inside, and his mouth fell open. The box was at least ten times as large as it had looked from the outside, and it was filled with complicated technological equipment.

Obi-Wan nervously approached the centre of the box, and examined a control panel which was covered in blinking lights.

'Stupid modern phone boxes!' Noticing a promising-looking switch, he reached over and flicked it. The box immediately began to rock and shake, accompanied by an ominous wailing. Obi-Wan grabbed onto a lever on the control panel and braced himself. However, when the rocking and wailing ceased, he was mercifully unharmed. Immensely relieved, he released the lever and rushed towards the exit.

'Okay, okay, I'm going!' Obviously the phone box was having a bad day. He understood how it felt.

Obi-Wan leapt out of the box, and hurriedly shut the door behind him. Breathing raggedly, he turned around and took a step in the direction of his ship. Thanks to his unusually slow brain, it took Obi-Wan several seconds to realize that his surroundings had changed. In fact, he was apparently no longer on Geonosis. Instead, he was standing on a wide road in front of a colossal gate. On the gate was a plaque which read, "Welcome to Vegas!"

'Holy-'

His speech was suddenly cut off by a calm female voice, successfully preventing the author from being sued by the possibly non-existent Children's Advisory Board on Books. A speaker mounted on the gate was emitting a recorded message.

'Welcome to Vegas! If you are here to drink away your sorrows, press 1. If you wish to get married illegally, press 2. If you are here for the Separatist leaders' meeting, press 3. If you don't know how you got here, press 4. If you don't know who you are, press 5.'

Obi-Wan dithered in front of the speaker, conflicted about which button to press. He was sorely tempted to press 4 (he certainly didn't know how he'd got there), but he knew it was his duty to press 3.

'The meeting is located at the Busty Ladies nightclub,' continued the speaker. 'Please do not bring your wife. Thankyou for coming to Vegas.'

There was a sharp grating noise as the gates began to slide open. Obi-Wan looked longingly back at the phone box, which now seemed like an old friend. Maybe he should just get back in there, go back to the Jedi Temple, and tell Master Yoda he was afraid of strippers… but that would be cowardice! Marshalling his courage, Obi-Wan squared his shoulders and stepped through the gates to meet his destiny.


	9. That's Totally Harsh, Man

**I didn't realize it had been so long since I published a chapter… sorry about that! Anyway, here's the next installment. Is that how you spell installment? I thought it was spelt "instalment", but my computer said that was wrong. Oh well, I'm probably wrong.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

After Anakin had bought something from Watto that he steadfastly refused to show Padmé, they traveled on foot to the address printed on the durasheet. The journey to Shmi Skywalker's new address took half an hour. During this time, Anakin cheerfully smoked some of the contents of the bag he had acquired from Watto. Grinning widely, he then completely ignored Padmé's lengthy anti-drug rant. He was still grinning when they reached an isolated property on the outskirts of Mos Eisley; there was a small dwelling, and a few generators which provided the home with water and power. Beyond these, there was only a vast expanse of sand.

The house was unfamiliar to Anakin; whoever his mother's new employers were, he had never met them.

As they approached the house, a man in a hoverchair emerged from the entrance. One of his legs was completely missing, the other swaddled in bandages. Padmé gasped, and Anakin struggled to arrange his face into a more sympathetic expression.

'Hello,' the man said politely, ignoring the way Anakin and Padmé were staring at his missing limbs. 'I'm Cliegg Lars.'

Cliegg held out a hand for Anakin to shake. Regaining his manic grin, Anakin bounded forwards and vigorously shook the old man's hand. Much to everyone's shock, when Anakin took his hand away, Cliegg's arm came away with it. Unfazed, Anakin returned the artificial arm to its owner, who did not appear pleased. There was an uncomfortable silence. Finally, Anakin decided to make a little small talk.

'So, did you see the footy scores last night?'

Cliegg and Padmé both gave him bewildered looks. Anakin shrugged. 'The Jedi never taught us how to talk to everyday people. They were mostly concerned with teaching us how to levitate and fight stuff. Or, at least,' he said, frowning thoughtfully, 'I think so. I wasn't really listening a lot of the time.'

No-one was particularly surprised by this announcement.

'Hey, I'm sorry I pulled your leg off,' Anakin added, completely failing to look apologetic.

'It was his arm, Anakin,' Padmé sighed. 'And anyway, you're supposed to be looking for your mother.'

'Oh, yeah. I'm here to see Shmi Skywalker.'

Cliegg's face crumpled with sorrow, and he drooped in his chair. 'Shmi is my wife.'

Anakin started. The idea of his mother marrying someone was very odd, especially since Shmi had always warned him not to trust men. That was why Anakin had decided against being gay, after all. Or had that been after he accidentally kissed Obi-Wan when he was blind drunk one night?

While Anakin tried to remember his motivations in becoming straight, Cliegg began to recount a sad tale. 'Several weeks ago, a band of hippies came through the area. They lured her away with their talk of a better future.' The old farmer shook his head, tears glittering in his eyes. 'Stupid tree-huggers!'

All homosexuality-related thoughts were driven from Anakin's mind by his deep-seated hatred of hippies. This dated back to his childhood, when a small group of hippies had cornered him in the marketplace, demanding he sign a petition to save the Great Red Tatooine Pine. Young Anakin had run screaming through the streets until his mother chased the hippies away with a rolling pin.

'I'll go after her,' Anakin resolved, already unearthing the hippie-slaughtering plans he had been hatching since childhood. Ignoring Padmé's half-hearted protests, he ran into Cliegg's house, almost bowling over a young girl who was working in the kitchen.

Padmé shook her head, exasperated. This time, she was going to have to stop the foolish Jedi, or someone was going to get hurt. Sure enough, Anakin soon ran out of the house carrying two machine guns, a grenade and pesticide.

'For God's sake, they're hippies, not terrorists!' Cliegg snapped.

'You can never be too prepared,' Anakin said wisely. 'Now, for the getaway vehicle.'

Anakin conducted a quick search of the house and yard, but found nothing he could use for this purpose. Discouraged, he walked back to Cliegg and Padmé, and his eyes fell on the farmer's hoverchair.

'Can I borrow your chair?' Anakin asked. However, Cliegg was swiftly removed from the seat before he could protest.

'Anakin!' Padmé scolded. 'You can't steal a sick man's chair!'

The young Jedi apprentice laughed scornfully. 'Oh, Padmé, how naïve you are! He's _obviously _faking!'

'I don't have any legs!' Cliegg yelled, from where he was sprawled on the ground. 'What's 'faking' about that?'

Ignoring him completely, Anakin pulled the lever of the chair and began to hover away. Padmé watched him float away from the farm, shaking her head. The chair was moving so slowly that she could quite easily have caught up with Anakin; but, she reasoned, it would be far more fun just to let him go and see what happened.

Before long, the twin suns of Tatooine had set, and the moon had appeared in the sky as Anakin hovered across the sand dunes. For hours, he found nothing, but around midnight a makeshift campsite appeared on the horizon. There were several dirty, patched tents set up in a circle, and a Kombi van painted with a rainbow pattern was parked nearby. Thick clouds of herbal smoke were rising from the centre of the site. Anakin followed the smoke, remembering the old Jedi saying: where there is herbal smoke, there are hippies. Or was that where there's smoke, there's a fire? As he had already revealed, Anakin had not really paid attention to his lessons.

It wasn't difficult for the Jedi to sneak into the campsite, as any noise he made was masked by the voices of the hippies, who were singing songs about love and peace. Anakin could sense the familiar presence of his mother emanating from the largest tent. He cut a hole in the fabric with his lightsaber and slipped inside.

Immediately, his nose was assaulted by the disgusting odor of an acrid smoke which filled the tent. When Anakin's eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he gasped in shock. Shmi Skywalker was lying on a low camp bed, smoking a long pipe.

'Mum! What are you doing?'

Shmi looked up, struggling to focus her eyes on Anakin. 'My son! How lovely to see you, after all these years!'

She started to wail an ancient song of welcome, but Anakin quickly interrupted her. He had already been subjected to far too much of his mother's terrible singing when he was a child.

'What are you smoking?' he spluttered, coughing.

'It's weed, babe,' Shmi told him, holding out her pipe. 'Here, try some. It's, like, so calming, man.'

Anakin snatched the pipe from her hands. _How dare those hippies besmirch my mother's innocence? _he thought furiously, conveniently forgetting his own penchant for smoking illegal substances.

'We're leaving now,' he snapped, dragging his mother to her feet.

'I can't leave!' Shmi argued. 'Me and the other dudes are on our way to a folk music festival.'

_Folk music? _Anakin thought with dread. _This just keeps getting worse and worse. _

'What have these bastards done to my mum?' he snarled. 'I'll kill them!'

Forgetting that Obi-Wan had once warned him not to mess with hippies, Anakin tore out of the tent and leaped towards them, igniting his lightsaber. The hippies shrieked and scattered, dropping their bongs in their haste.

'Dude! That's, like, totally harsh, man!' yelled one, as Anakin chased him around the fire.

'Please put on my gravestone that I died with a bong in my hand and a Bob Dylan song in my heart,' requested another before she was finally silenced.

Leaving all the slaughtered hippies in a heap around the smoking fire, Anakin returned to the tent and dragged his mother outside. There he encountered an unforeseen problem; since Shmi refused to leave her guitar behind, they couldn't travel back to the farm on the hoverchair. Eventually, Anakin was forced to shove Shmi and her guitar into the back of the Kombi van. In the early hours of the morning, they finally skidded away from the campsite, Anakin swearing angrily in the driver's seat.

It is a little-known fact that the events of this night led to the prohibition of hippies years later, during the reign of Darth Vader. Most of Vader's inferiors simply assumed that this prohibition must have been due to his distaste for drugs such as marijuana. They were, of course, completely mistaken.

**:D I can totally imagine Vader sitting in that meditation chamber thing he has, smoking some weed. Although he wouldn't want to ruin his lungs anymore I guess. Anywayyy, next chapter will be up soon!**


	10. A Slight Mistake

**In this chapter, one of my favourite characters makes a surprise appearance. Woot! I hope you guys like it.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars, or Kombis, or Tupperware. **

When Anakin finally arrived back at Cliegg's farm, he was at wit's end. Shmi had strummed her guitar and sang hippie songs throughout the entire journey, and the dreamcatchers hanging from the roof of the Kombi kept hitting him in the forehead. As he pulled over in front of the house, Padmé ran out to meet him, looking slightly disappointed that he had returned unharmed.

'Is she alright?' Cliegg asked urgently from where he was still sprawled on the ground.

Anakin hesitated. 'Well… it depends what you mean by "alright".'

'But she's not dead?' Padmé said impatiently.

In answer to this, Shmi's voice floated towards them from the back seat of the Kombi. 'No, I'm just like, so stoned, man.'

Anakin and Padmé elected to stay a few days longer to make sure Shmi was not going to be too much of a problem. They owed Cliegg this at least; Anakin had accidentally left his hoverchair at the hippies' campsite.

After a long sleep, Anakin woke up the next day in a much better mood. However, his good mood was abruptly destroyed when he went into the kitchen, and discovered Shmi and Padmé sitting at the table, smoking.

While the Jedi stood with his jaw more or less touching the ground, Padmé began to speak, waving her hands about dreamily.

'What if, like, this universe is just a tiny part of a bigger universe on top of, like, a cheese grater, which is just a tiny part of an even bigger universe?'

Shmi took a long drag from her pipe, her remaining brain cells pushed to breaking point in order to comprehend this sensational statement.

'Woah. That's deep, man.'

'All right, we're leaving!' Anakin snapped. He pulled the giggling Padmé to her feet and marched out the door.

'Bye, son!' Shmi called, waving her pipe in the air. 'Remember to recycle!'

Meanwhile on Vegas, Obi-Wan was preparing himself to enter the Busty Ladies Nightclub. Judging by the sheer volume of men traipsing in and out of the building, it was a favourite haunt of most of the planet's male population. It had taken Obi-Wan a while to find it, as he kept getting distracted by all the neon signs. Also, he was fairly sure he had accidentally married a crossdresser, but there was no time to dwell on that. Instead, Obi-Wan focused on tearing his eyes away from the neon sign above the door of the nightclub, which depicted a scantily-clad woman. Then, steeling himself, he opened the door and began to fight his way through the throngs of excitable men inside the nightclub. For ten minutes, Obi-Wan found nothing that resembled a meeting of the Separatist leaders. Eventually, the noise and colour became overwhelming; panting, he slipped into a small, empty room. When his breathing had slowed, he became aware of the sound of voices emanating from another room beyond.

'So, we meet at nine,' one voice declared. These words were followed by mutters of agreement from several other people.

'Then we'll split up,' the voice continued, 'and take a street each. They won't know what hit them!'

There was a burst of appreciative laughter and applause.

_Good Force! _thought Obi-Wan. _Was that evil laughter I heard? Time to take drastic action!_

Throwing the door open, he leaped into the centre of a circle of people. 'HA!' he yelled accusingly. 'I have discovered your evil scheme!'

'What was that, dear?' Obi-Wan turned round and found himself face to face with… a kindly middle-aged woman. In fact, come to think of it, everyone in the meeting appeared to be female and middle-aged. How odd. He didn't remember the Jedi Council informing him that the Separatists were disgruntled housewives.

'Evil plan?' The woman laughed uncertainly, patting her greying hair. 'Maybe it is a bit of a cunning way to sell muffin trays, but-'

'Muffin trays?' Obi-Wan echoed, now completely bewildered. 'Is that some new kind of explosive?'

The women laughed merrily. Obi-Wan began to suspect that he might have made a slight mistake.

'This is a Tupperware party, dear!' said one of the women, holding up a mint-green plastic salad bowl.

Obi-Wan looked wildly round the room. 'What? But- but I heard you laughing evilly!'

'Evilly? I don't know, that seems a bit of an exaggeration. I'd say we were laughing more mischievously than evilly. Don't you agree, ladies?'

One of her fellows shook her head, frowning thoughtfully. 'No, I think we were laughing conspiratorially.'

They began to argue over which word was more appropriate, and Obi-Wan used this distraction to quietly slip away. He was standing discreetly in a corner of the room, trying to hide his embarrassment, when there was a loud 'Tch!' from beside him.

Obi-Wan spun around to see who had made this derisive noise, and to his astonishment, he was confronted with the familiar sight of his old Master glaring accusingly at him.

Spluttering, Obi-Wan began to gabble nonsensical strings of words. After about thirty seconds of this, he managed to collect his thoughts enough to gasp, 'Qui-Gon! What! How did you get here? I thought you were dead!'

'I am dead, you idiot!' Qui-Gon fixed him with a hostile stare. 'I'm a Force-Ghost! This is the kind of behaviour that gets you into situations like the one you just escaped! Get your facts right, dammit!'

Obi-Wan blinked. As if it wasn't enough to have his dead Master appear beside him, now he was being chastised!

'Oh, whatever!' Obi-Wan snapped childishly. 'What are you here for anyway? Aren't you supposed to say things about fate, not just reprimand me?'

'I'm here to stop you from doing anything else stupid,' Qui-Gon said rudely.

Obi-Wan glared at him. 'Oh, really? Then where were you when I decided it would be a great idea to let Anakin fix my lightsaber? You could have appeared then, but _no_-'

'Why, what happened?' Qui-Gon asked curiously.

'He put it back together the wrong way, so that when I ignited it, the blade shot out the wrong end.'

While his Master sniggered, Obi-Wan folded his arms angrily. 'It wasn't funny! I spent a week in the Healing ward.'

Qui-Gon chuckled, 'Are you kidding? That's hilarious! But _this _isn't funny at all; you were just harassing innocent women!'

His remark was spoiled slightly when the two arguing women began to thump each other with the muffin trays.

The two Jedi were silent for a few minutes as they watched the ladies' fierce battle. When one of the women had claimed victory by knocking her opponent out with a cooking pot, Obi-Wan decided he might as well start a conversation.

'So, you're a Force-Ghost, huh? How's that going for you?'

'Oh, it has its ups and downs,' Qui-Gon replied gravely. He began to recount a story in which he tried to have a lie down, and fell straight through the floor, but his tale was interrupted when the door behind them opened, and Count Dooku entered the room.

Qui-Gon's mouth fell open. 'Well, look at that! It's my old Master!'

'He's the leader of the Separatists these days,' Obi-Wan muttered. What a stroke of luck! He had managed to walk right into the mastermind of the Separatist army!

'Ah, good evening!' Dooku said cordially as he approached. The Separatist leader was a tall, straight-backed man dressed in black robes, with grey hair and wide, dark eyes. He was unable to see Qui-Gon's Force Ghost, which was fortunate, as Qui-Gon was giving him a series of very rude gestures.

'A Jedi, I see,' Dooku said, his eyes flicking over Obi-Wan's robes. 'What is your name?'

'Obi-Wan Kenobi.'

'Kenobi?' Dooku's eyes widened, and his lips curled into a pleased smile. 'Just the man I was hoping to see! Say, would you like to sit down and have a drink with me?'

'Sure!' Obi-Wan said enthusiastically, ignoring Qui-Gon's furious protests.

'Great!' Dooku smiled. 'But could you wait here for a few minutes? I really have to go to the bathroom.'

When Obi-Wan agreed to wait, Dooku hurried out of the room, laughing under his breath.

'What are you still standing here for?' Qui-Gon demanded. 'Run away!'

Obi-Wan looked at him incredulously. 'But this looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship!' _And I get a free drink_, he thought eagerly.

'Oh, screw this!' Qui-Gon muttered, and he vanished in a cloud of fairy dust. Or at least, Obi-Wan thought it was fairy dust. It may have been pixie dust. He has been known to get them mixed up from time to time.

_So much for the Master-Padawan bond! _Obi-Wan thought. _Dooku seemed like a really nice guy, and Qui-Gon was horrible to him!_

Unsurprisingly, he thought differently later on when he was hanging by his ankles in a prison cell.

**:) I love Qui-Gon! I couldn't resist sticking him in here, even though he's technically supposed to be dead. So, what did you think? Please review!**


	11. ObiWan In Captivity

**Here's the next chapter, starting from where we left off, with Obi-Wan hanging by his ankles in a prison cell. I like this chapter, because it involves my favourite Sith Lord, Count Dooku. He's awesome.**

**Disclaimer: George Lucas owns everything to do with Star Wars. I don't own Tetris or Tupperware.**

_Damn my caring, sensitive nature! _Obi-Wan thought as he dangled painfully from the energy binders in his cell. He then contradicted this statement slightly by imagining a series of cruel but surprisingly innovative ways to torture Count Dooku. As his old Master had always said, Obi-Wan was often slow, but he was always able to think of entertaining ways to punish people who got on his bad side. Like the young Padawans who had dared to "Trick or Treat" him at Halloween. They never knew what hit them (Obi-Wan did- it was an unusually large pumpkin).

He sniggered quietly to himself for a few minutes. However, he eventually decided that it was probably best not to get to the insane laughing stage after only two hours. He would save that for later, when he had run out of other things to do. Instead, Obi-Wan dangled for a few minutes. When he tired of this, he did a bit of flailing. For the next hour, he alternated between dangling and flailing, depending on which seemed appropriate.

He was somewhat pleased when his dangling-and-flailing was interrupted by a creak as the door to his cell slowly opened, and Count Dooku stepped inside.

At this point, relations between Padmé and Anakin were extremely strained. For hours, Padmé had been glaring ferociously at her bodyguard as he piloted their ship. They had been trawling aimlessly through space for two days now, with no apparent goal or direction, though Anakin insisted he had a plan.

'What is your plan, then?' Padmé asked snappily, continuing to shoot energy bolts with her eyes.

Anakin switched his gaze from the monotonous view outside the windscreen to Padmé's irate face. 'I'm working on it.' In actual fact, he wasn't. He was currently occupied with a game of Tetris on his mobile phone.

Padmé folded her arms and glared at the wall. The wall looked simply terrified. 'How long will it be until you have a plan?'

'I am very near the verge of having a plan.'

As Padmé opened her mouth to snap something in reply, a beeping noise issued from the controls, and a hologram of Master Windu appeared.

'Skywalker!' barked the imposing Jedi Master. Anakin winced and cowered in his seat. 'What are you doing on a ship with Senator Amidala in the Outer Rim?'

Anakin shrugged. 'Uh… playing Tetris?' He held up his phone, hands shaking slightly with fear.

'Ooh, I like that game!' Mace said, craning his neck to get a better view of the phone's screen. 'By the way, you could put that rectangle just there- ah, yes, Master Yoda, I'm just telling him.' Master Windu cleared his throat and attempted to look stern.

'Did you know your incompetent Master has been captured by Count Dooku on Vegas?' he said sharply.

Padmé groaned. Another visit to Vegas was the last thing she wanted right now. Anakin, however, was delighted to find a valid reason to get drunk and gamble all over again.

'Great!' he grinned widely. 'Padmé and I will go and rescue him!'

'We'll meet you there,' Mace agreed. 'I am currently occupied with some important Jedi business.'

A noise oddly similar to that of champagne corks popping filtered out from the hologram. It was then that Anakin and Padmé noticed Mace was wearing a party hat on his bald head.

'Uh, I have to go now,' Mace said hurriedly, and the hologram disappeared.

Anakin shoved his phone into his pocket and set a course for Vegas, still grinning. Finally, something was going right!

'Hello, my friend,' Dooku said pleasantly. 'Are you enjoying your stay in the prison cell?'

Obi-Wan gave him an angry upside-down look, but refrained from making any kind of reply.

'Oh come now,' the Separatist leader chuckled, 'You have to admit, you kind of brought this upon yourself.'

Despite his anger, Obi-Wan was forced to agree with him. 'Yeah, you're right. I can't believe I crashed that Tupperware party.'

Count Dooku blinked confusedly at him. 'Actually, I was referring to your current imprisonment.'

'Oh yeah,' Obi-Wan said. 'Yeah, I should have listened to the inexplicable apparition.'

Dooku agreed that the apparitions were usually right, even when they ordered him to kill civilians, steal priceless jewels and assault distinguished members of the Jedi Council. _Especially _then.

There were a few moments of silence, while Dooku reminisced about 'the good old days' and Obi-Wan went back to his dangling and flailing. Eventually, Dooku sighed and reluctantly wrenched his mind back to the present.

'So, how are things at the Jedi Temple, anyway?' he asked.

'Oh, fine,' Obi-Wan lied. 'My Padawan is being a little difficult.'

Dooku laughed. It sounded to Obi-Wan like he was a little out of practice. 'Yes, I remember Qui-Gon was sometimes a bit of a handful. The little tyke!'

Obi-Wan frowned, trying to connect the phrase 'little tyke' with the irritating apparition he had experienced a short time ago.

'I suppose Master Windu is still bald?' Dooku continued.

'Yes, he has been for as long as I can remember, despite what those hair regrowth commercials say.'

Dooku smiled stiffly, trying to recall how facial muscles could be rearranged to form this expression. 'Poor Mace! I was lucky enough to retain my good looks as I grew older.'

He smoothed a hand over his short grey hair; it came away with a giant ball of hair in the palm. Dooku stared thoughtfully at the hair; he could make a great toupee out of that.

'How old is he, anyway?' Obi-Wan asked, politely ignoring the ball of hair. 'He must be pretty old, because he's been bald for years now.'

'Oh, he's only about fifty-four,' Dooku informed him absently, shoving the hair into a pocket in his robes. 'He was born bald, and he just never grew hair, you know.'

Obi-Wan stared at him, wondering if all the blood rushing to his head had caused him to hallucinate. The giant teapot in front of him told him not to be silly, laughed, and then turned into a parking meter.

'So anyway,' Dooku continued, 'I have a proposition to make of you. If you agree to become my apprentice and eventual successor as leader of the Separatists, I will let you go. If not, well… I have a friend in this room who will deal with you.' He stroked his lightsaber longingly. 'You'll be _dying _to meet him, if you know what I mean.'

'I will never join you!' Obi-Wan shouted predictably.

Dooku widened his eyes persuasively. 'Are you sure? Because you get paid. You also get weekends off, and a free holiday to Naboo every year. Even a harem of lovely young Twi'lek ladies if you would like.'

Obi-Wan's mind was filled with images of himself bathing in money, then sitting on a beach on Naboo, getting a foot massage from a Twi'lek girl.

'No, thankyou,' he said firmly, to both Dooku and the Twi'lek girl who was now offering him a martini.

Dooku's face fell a little. 'Well, I'm afraid I have no choice but to kill you, then.'

'We could settle it some other way,' Obi-Wan suggested. 'Like, for example…'

He stared desperately around the room, hoping for some sort of inspiration, and his gaze fell on a poster that said, 'The Laughing Bantha Casino- Come and have a drink, play some poker, and give us all your cash!' An idea flitted through his mind.

'Like a poker tournament?'

The aging Sith Lord smiled, well satisfied. 'It's settled, then!'  
He bowed mockingly to Obi-Wan, then turned and strode out the door.

Obi-Wan dangled in silence, staring at the closed door. This was an improvement, he told himself. Or it would be if he knew how to play poker.

**I don't know how to play poker either, so the poker tournament in the next chapter won't really be described in detail. Just warning you. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please review! **


	12. The Tournament

**Hmm, this chapter is irritatingly short… that happens a lot with my stories. But oh well, there's not much I can do; I tried rearranging the chapters a bit, but I just had to leave them how they are. Anyway, here's the poker tournament, such as it is. I can't play poker, so I didn't actually describe the game at all. Sorry about that!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars, or Cluedo, Monopoly or Uno. I like those games!**

The next day, Obi-Wan somehow found himself sitting at a long, wide table, along with Count Dooku, the Separatist leaders, and a few locals. To his dismay, everyone else had been delighted by the idea of a poker tournament. Dooku had even gone to the trouble of having special poker gloves custom-made, to protect his delicate skin from the razor-sharp edges of the cards. Obi-Wan was not wearing gloves; but he _was_ wearing pants, unlike the man opposite him, who had forgotten to dress properly with all the excitement.

As Obi-Wan admired Dooku's magnificent gloves, the Separatist leader grinned proudly.

'I see you like my gloves, Kenobi,' he remarked. 'You may also have noticed my new toupee.'

Obi-Wan had not. He looked up at Dooku's head, on which was resting a truly hideous toupee which had evidently been constructed from balls of the Sith Lord's own hair.

To his great relief, Obi-Wan was spared from making any reply when the dealer sat down at the table and began to deal the cards. He gulped and glanced down at his cards, but they didn't make any sense to him. He was going to have to wing it.

On Anakin and Padmé's ship, things were not much better. Padmé had progressed to completely ignoring Anakin, and stalking out of the room with her nose in the air every time he came near her. After a nasty incident occurred when Padmé forgot to open her eyes, and stalked head-first into a wall, Anakin decided it was time to go to bed.

All his worries were soon obliterated by a confusing dream in which all the stars in the galaxy spontaneously decided they were fed up with being ignored, and demanded that Chancellor Palpatine allow them to be represented in the Senate. Anakin was just complaining to the Chancellor that this was ridiculous, as even one star could never fit in the Senate, when he was rudely awoken by a pair of icy fingers prodding him in the chest.

Sitting up in bed, Anakin snapped, 'Alright, alright, stop poking me!'

He gazed blearily at the figure in front of him. 'Look, Your Excellency, the fact of the matter is we will need a bigger Senate. Master Yoda tells me he is quite happy to build it, but we'll have to wait until next week because he's visiting his mother. We'll need- OW!'

Anakin rubbed his arm where it had just been pinched and looked up indignantly. For a moment, he goggled at his attacker; then, he shrieked piercingly and leapt off the bed.

'Qui-Gon! What are you doing here? Aren't you dead?'

'Why does everyone ask me that?' Qui-Gon grumbled. 'Of course I'm dead! God, you're even stupider than I remember!'

Anakin glared at him, quickly recovering from his shock. 'What do you want?'

'I just wanted to see why you aren't helping Obi-Wan with his poker tournament yet. So, it's lady trouble, then?'

'How do you know about that?' Anakin asked, blushing.

Qui-Gon waved a transparent hand and said, 'Oh, all the other Force Ghosts are talking about it right now. Padmé, huh? God, she's hot. I mean, I don't want to be disrespectful to my girlfriend, but _damn_-'

'Wait, wait, wait,' Anakin interrupted, astonished. 'You have a girlfriend?'

'Oh, yeah,' Qui-Gon nodded. 'Her name is Tahl. She's a Force Ghost too. She was killed many years ago, back when Obi-Wan was still in nappies.' The Force-Ghost frowned meditatively. 'Well, actually he was sixteen. So maybe he was out of nappies. These things seem pretty unimportant in the long run.'

Anakin thought for a moment, an event which fascinated Qui-Gon enough to drive any memories of his past from his mind.

'So what do you think I should do to get Padmé to like me?'

Qui-Gon said wisely, 'You can never force a woman to like you. The only thing you can do is ask her to marry you and see what happens. If she doesn't slap you, that's an encouragement.'

'Thanks for the advice!' Anakin said enthusiastically, already pulling on his tunic. 'I'll make sure I do that.'

'Great!' Qui-Gon grinned. 'But go and help Obi-Wan first. He needs all the help he can get.'

They laughed at Obi-Wan's expense for a while, and then Qui-Gon returned to the land of the dead (that is, some eternal retirement village that smells like mothballs).

So far, Obi-Wan had managed to survive the game of poker, mostly by copying what the other players did, and making things up as he went along. Incidentally, this was also the method he had very successfully employed on Jedi missions since he became a Knight. As usual, Obi-Wan had managed to fool the people around him into thinking he knew what he was doing. Well, not completely. The player next to Obi-Wan had given him a strange look when he asked whether he was allowed to collect $200 when he passed 'Go', but he had been otherwise successful.

It was almost ten o'clock at night, and Obi-Wan was starting to become bored of the tedious game. He stifled a yawn and glanced idly down at his hand of cards. Perhaps there was some way he could escape this game. He had observed several of the players slam their cards down onto the table and say something when they wanted to leave the game… what was it they had said?

Obi-Wan set his cards facing upwards on the table in front of him, wracking his brains. 'Uh… go fish?'

The game of poker came to a complete standstill as everyone at the table stared openly at Obi-Wan.

'Oh, shoot, I knew that wasn't right… um, snap? No… wait, isn't it uno? Uno!'

There was a very long and uncomfortable silence. Obi-Wan deduced that he had not guessed correctly.

At that point, the doors of the casino flew wide open with a bang, and Anakin barged in, grinning stupidly. He was shadowed by a very bored and irritated Padmé.

'Are you ready to play some poker?' Anakin yelled. He seized a drink from a nearby waiter and downed it in one gulp. 'Prepare to meet your maker!'

He then glanced at Padmé, puffing out his chest.

Padmé snorted derisively, sat down and started flirting with the barman.

**Like I said, this chapter is annoyingly short. I'll compensate for that by publishing the next chapter fairly soon. Actually, there's only three chapters left to go! Please keep reviewing! :)**


	13. The Decimator

**Last time I updated, I promised that I would post this new chapter fairly soon to make up for the shortness of the previous chapter. I did not follow through on that promise. Oops! Sorry about that; I was busy obsessing over Eric Northman from True Blood. I never thought I would say this, but I love him even more than I love Obi-Wan.**

**But enough about my undying love for Eric Northman. Here's the usual disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Star Wars, Cluedo, or Botox. **

As soon as he had finished with his drink, Anakin raced towards the poker table and flung himself into the chair beside Obi-Wan.

'Hey,' Anakin greeted his Master quickly, nodding his head a few times.

Obi-Wan did not reply; he was too busy staring open-mouthed at his apprentice. 'What are you doing here?'

'Qui-Gon's Force Ghost turned up and told me you needed help with your poker tournament,' Anakin informed him.

While this would normally have been a startling revelation, Obi-Wan was barely even surprised.

'He also gave me some _great _dating advice,' Anakin added. He grinned and waved at Padmé, who narrowed her eyes angrily, then seized the waiter by the tie and kissed him. Anakin's grin faded slightly.

'So let's get into the game,' he said enthusiastically, pretending he had not seen anything out of the ordinary. Anakin took a hand of cards from the dealer and glanced cursorily around at his opponents. When his eyes fell on Count Dooku, he gasped and leapt to his feet.

'Dooku! You tried to kill Padmé!' Anakin's hands balled into fists, but his anger disappeared quickly when he became distracted by Dooku's hideous toupee.

'Hey, nice wig,' he remarked vaguely, and sat back down.

'Er… thankyou,' Dooku muttered nervously, smoothing a hand over his hair. 'So, shall we start the game?'

'Sure,' Anakin said placidly. 'You in, Master?'

Obi-Wan hurriedly stepped away from the table. 'Oh, er, no. I think I'll sit this one out. Just chill, you know.'

The other players shrugged carelessly, and the game began. It soon became obvious that Anakin knew even less about poker than his Master did. Much to the displeasure of his neighbouring players, he kept turning to them and announcing, 'I accuse Miss Scarlett in the library with the rope.' Eventually, the player in the seat beside him was fed up with being told about someone he was sure he had never met. He slammed a fist down on the table and snarled, 'Do you even know how to play this game? And also, who is Miss Scarlett?'

'Oh, I'm sorry,' Anakin said, looking slightly indignant. 'So it isn't Miss Scarlett in the library with the rope?'

Everyone at the table glared silently at him; then, they reached into their coat pockets and pulled out their blasters. Anakin began to sweat. Usually he could get out of dangerous situations by igniting his lightsaber and lopping off a few limbs. However, this time that was impossible; he had loaned his lightsaber to Cliegg, who had been in the market for a new chef's knife.

It was very lucky that, at that moment, the doors of the casino burst open, and Mace Windu and a legion of Jedi flooded in. They immediately surrounded the poker table, lightsabers buzzing angrily.

'Good evening, Dooku,' Mace said coldly. 'Still not on top of that gambling problem, then?'

'Shut up!' Dooku snapped, leaping to his feet. 'Weren't you once the champion poker player in the Galaxy? WEREN'T YOU, Master Windu, or _The Decimator_ as you were known as in those days? I remember, because I always came second!'

Dooku paused and gasped a bit as his neighbours wiped spit off their faces. 'I never felt the glory of holding the cup in my hands! I mean, come on, I had a speech written and everything!'

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a dirty, torn piece of paper. Straightening out the creases, he held the paper up to his eyes and cleared his throat. 'Ladies and gentlemen, what an honour this is! Firstly, I'd like to thank-'

'Shut up,' Mace advised him. 'How about a game, for old time's sake?'

Without waiting for an answer, Mace sat down in Anakin's vacated seat and pulled on his special poker gloves. They were black, studded and had secret pockets to hold cards if you felt like cheating. Also, they were embroidered with "The Decimator" in gold thread.

The Jedi team smirked and muttered that if his lack of hair was anything to go by, he was _way_ past it.

'Bring it on!' yelled Dooku, slapping his chest. He spoiled the effect slightly by lapsing into a coughing fit.

The other Jedi watched, amazed, as the cold, strict Master gradually reduced all the other players to tears, including Dooku, whose dreams of winning the cup were violently crushed.

'HELL YEAH!' Mace shouted, standing up and seizing the golden cup from a nearby attendant. 'I've still got it, even if I haven't got any hair!' He shot a nasty glare at his fellow Jedi. 'My hair didn't fall out, it's just a characteristic of my species. Master Yoda, however… let's just say he once had a full head of black hair.'

'Heard that, I did!' croaked a familiar voice from somewhere around Mace's feet. 'Considered dying it, I did, but prefer to age naturally, I do.' Master Yoda directed a sharp glare at Obi-Wan, who stroked his dyed beard nervously.

Mace snorted derisively; he knew full well that Yoda had unsuccessfully tried Botox several times.

'The cup, give me!' Yoda demanded, holding out one of his clawed hands. 'Go in the Jedi trophy cabinet, it will.'

Mace clutched the cup protectively to his chest. 'No! I want to put it in my room where I can admire it.'

Yoda attempted to snatch the cup from his colleague's hands. 'Polish it every day, you can.'

Shaking his head defiantly, Mace held the cup over his head where Yoda couldn't reach it.

'Use the Force, I can!' the ancient Jedi Master laughed. It was surprising how high he could jump, Obi-Wan reflected; it was probably thanks to the gymnastics training he had had when he was young.

'The Force doesn't support stealing!' Mace yelled, sprinting across the casino.

Obi-Wan shook his head as he watched the two venerable Jedi Masters chase each other around the room. He wondered briefly who would win. Mace certainly had longer legs, but Yoda had the advantage of being able to run under the furniture.

Sighing, Obi-Wan dismissed the matter from his mind. He had had quite enough of anything to do with poker or cups. It was time to go home, where he could check for new grey hairs in private.

**Hehe. I like to imagine Mace and Yoda running around in the casino, trying to steal the cup from each other. Next chapter will be up soon, unless I get distracted by Eric's gorgeous face and delicious voice again… sorry! Can't help myself. ;)**


	14. Home, Sweet Home

**:O It's been so long since I published any chapters for this story! Sorry! I got distracted by other things, like my new Tumblr account. Here's the next chapter… the second last chapter actually! Hope you like it. Oh, and I hope you all had a great Christmas!**

'So I said to him, "Let me show you how a _man _handles an argument."' Obi-Wan puffed his chest out and laughed boisterously at this point. 'Poor fool, he never knew what hit him.'

He was currently standing in the center of the Jedi Council room, reciting his (mostly fabricated) story of the poker game. Seated before him were the members of the Council, most of whom were either listening intently or sleeping. Assuming, due to his ample sense of self-importance, that they were listening, Obi-Wan continued with his story.

Just as he was recounting a harrowing moment when he allegedly discovered that the player beside him had placed a grenade in his lap, Anakin barged into the room. There was an idiotic grin plastered to his face that Obi-Wan recognised as the result of either free donuts, or Padmé.

Sure enough, almost as soon as he had entered the room Anakin burst out, 'Padmé asked me to accompany her to Naboo!'

Ki-Adi Mundi's elbow slipped off the arm of his chair and he only just managed to stay in his seat, while Mace started violently. 'Skywalker! What are you doing here? What did you just say?'

Anakin repeated his statement with just as much excitement, while Obi-Wan glared at his apprentice, angry that his sensational tale had been interrupted.

'Well, alright. Off you go, then,' Mace agreed grudgingly.

The young Jedi grinned manically and sprinted from the room, his Padawan braid swinging energetically. As soon as the doors had slid shut, Obi-Wan lapsed back into his story.

'Quiet be, Obi-Wan!' Yoda ordered, waving his ears in an irritated manner.

'How dare you tell Kenobi to stop?' Mace snapped. 'Maybe I was enjoying it!'

His colleagues looked skeptically at one another; Mace had been staring vacantly into the distance while checking his head for hairs during Obi-Wan's story.

'You may stop, Kenobi,' Mace said reluctantly. He shot Yoda a defiant glare, then folded his arms and stared angrily out the window.

Yoda and Mace had not been speaking to each other since their argument over the poker trophy. The trophy in question was now housed safely in the Jedi Temple trophy cabinet, much to Yoda's satisfaction. Ki-Adi had assured Mace that he could visit it every day and even polish it, but Mace said it just wasn't the same.

'Oh, yes!' Yoda cried suddenly. He had just remembered a particularly nasty revenge that he had been plotting against Master Windu. 'Fancy you a seat on the Jedi Council, Obi-Wan?' he asked, looking maliciously at Mace.

Obi-Wan's eyes bulged as all his wildest dreams became reality. 'Yes, I would like that very-'

He was interrupted by a loud popping noise as the Force Ghost of Qui-Gon spontaneously appeared beside him.

Ki-Adi toppled off his chair, while the other Council members gasped. For a few moments, everyone was too shocked to say anything.

Ignoring this unfriendly greeting, Qui-Gon began to rant and rave like a madman. 'Are you CRAZY?' he yelled, tearing out fistfuls of his long, luscious hair. 'If you appoint Obi-Wan to the Council, the entire Galaxy will be doomed! I mean, imagine the laws he'd make! If you've ever wondered what it would be like if we all had to grow hideous beards and talk about politics for hours on end, then you're in luck!'

'Qui-Gon, calm down.' Mace waved his hand in a placating gesture. 'We have all wondered at some point what our lives would be like if we were unlucky enough to be reincarnated as Obi-Wan, but-'

'Mention the 'r' word in the Council room, how dare you!' Yoda interrupted angrily. 'What think you, that we are some kind of religion? Hereby expelled from the Council, you are!'

Mace spluttered loudly. As the Council room filled with angry shouts, Qui-Gon glanced at his old apprentice.

'Maybe you _should _be on the Council; you would fit in very well with these idiots. I mean, who knows, maybe this will turn out to be the one thing you don't suck at.'

And with this unsupportive remark, Qui-Gon disappeared.

Anakin was so excited about the trip to Naboo that he collapsed in a heap on his bed after three hours of buzzing around the Temple, telling everyone he knew about it. He was enjoying a delightful dream in which Padmé demanded that the Temple be relocated to Naboo so that she could be near Anakin, when he was rudely awakened by Obi-Wan.

His Master barged into Anakin's bedroom in a panic, his shirt unbuttoned, revealing his bare, white chest.

'Anakin, Anakin! I have terrible news! I was just looking in the mirror and I noticed that I have grey hairs on my chest! _Grey hairs_!'

His unfortunate Padawan sat up in bed, groaned and attempted to focus on Obi-Wan, who was sitting on the end of the bed and pointing at his chest.

'What- hey, I'm leaving for Naboo today! YES!' Anakin leaped out of bed, shoved Obi-Wan out of the way and started to pull on his tunic.

'But this is a serious matter! Today is a very important day for me,' Obi-Wan insisted. 'I have finally achieved my life's goal.'

Anakin looked up from his suitcase, frowning. 'You discovered a haircut that combines the street style of a mullet with the convenience of a bowl cut?'

'Not that goal,' Obi-Wan sighed. He was beginning to doubt such a haircut existed. 'The other one.' His chest swelled with pride as he announced, 'I've been inducted onto the Jedi Council.'

Anakin smiled awkwardly, trying to hide his shock. 'Oh, congratulations! Maybe this will turn out to be the one thing you don't suck at.'

Obi-Wan stared at his apprentice. 'Have you been talking to Qui-Gon?'

'No. Why?'

'Oh, no reason,' Obi-Wan muttered.

'Well anyway, good luck with that,' Anakin said vaguely, sitting on his suitcase to make it shut. 'I'll see you in three weeks!'

Obi-Wan sighed as the door slid shut behind his apprentice. He had much to do, he thought as he buttoned up his shirt. First, he needed to get a tan. _Then_, he would deal with those rogue hairs.

**Last chapter is coming up next (I'll try to remember to publish it this time)! Please review, even though I don't deserve it after I made you wait so long for this chapter! :P**


	15. A Rather Embarrassing Conclusion

**Here's the last chapter, finally! So, so sorry it took an eternity for me to publish it; I just moved into a college two weeks ago, and I started university classes on Monday, so I've been really busy. I've finally got around to it, though! I really hope this chapter is worth the wait. It's sort of ridiculous… but then again, all of my stories are like that.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Star Wars. **

Later that day, Anakin and Padmé's starship touched down in a quiet village beside a glittering lake. Anakin was ecstatic to have the chance to spend so much time with Padmé, despite the fact that she appeared to be more interested in painting her nails than talking to him. Similarly, Padmé was delighted to be back on her home-planet, and staying in her favourite villa on an island in the middle of the lake. After all that had happened to her in the past few weeks, it was comforting to know that she still had access to upper-lip bleaching professionals who charged a sensible fee.

Padmé didn't even let Anakin's odd behavior spoil her good mood. Although she tried to avoid his company as much as possible, he was bearable as long as his mouth was full of food. She only wished he would stop talking to that annoying Force Ghost.

Much to the irritation of everyone involved, Qui-Gon kept popping up at the most inopportune times, mostly to say, 'You're not doing it right! Here, this is what I did with Tahl'.

One quiet, cool afternoon, Anakin was soaking in the bathtub in his room when Qui-Gon popped into existence beside him. Anakin let out a shocked yell and quickly covered himself with a towel.

'Will you stop doing that?' he grumbled. This was in fact the third time it had happened; Anakin was beginning to suspect Qui-Gon was doing it deliberately.

'Trust me, I don't do it by choice,' Qui-Gon snapped, turning to face the wall. 'We Force Ghosts don't know what everyone is doing all the time, you know. I once visited Obi-Wan when he was on the toilet. It was a tight squeeze in there-'

Anakin quickly turned one of the taps on at full blast, drowning out Qui-Gon's words.

'Why can't you go and bother Obi-Wan instead of me?' Anakin suggested.

'Well, I would be, but he asked me not to come back since I turned up in his toilet,' Qui-Gon said ruefully. 'He was very upset about that, I'm not sure why.'

Anakin decided it was time to bring the conversation back round to himself. 'So anyway, I was thinking about what you said the first time you visited, about asking Padmé to marry me,' he said thoughtfully. 'Do you really think I should do it?'

Qui-Gon nodded wisely. 'Go for it! I recently married the Force Ghost of my dead girlfriend, Tahl. The "til death do us part" thing was a little controversial, but-'

'Okay, I'm leaving now! Wish me luck!' Anakin called as he leaped out of the bath and ran for the door.

Qui-Gon stared after him, eyes wide with a mixture of horror and amusement, and said to himself, 'I don't think he was wearing anything.'

When night had fallen, Anakin and Padmé sat down for dinner on a balcony overlooking the lake. As they waited for the meal to be served, Anakin "entertained" his companion with various enthralling tales of his life as a Jedi. Rather than forcing herself to listen to these stories, Padmé was staring out at the black surface of the lake and fantasising about buying shoes. Judging by the glassy look in her eyes, Anakin thought gleefully, his conversation must _really _be riveting.

After about ten minutes, the main course arrived on a silver dish. Anakin grinned; it really was a brilliant idea to hide the ring inside their meal.

When the waiter placed the dish in front of Padmé, she leaned forward and examined it distastefully. 'What is this?' she asked, scowling in a bad-tempered way.

'Freshly caught gooberfish,' Anakin told her smugly. 'It took ten men three hours to catch it, and two of them died!'

Much to Anakin's surprise, Padmé did not appear impressed by this information. However, she shrugged and reluctantly took a bite, and Anakin happily tucked into his meal as well. After a few minutes of silence as they ate, Padmé suddenly cried out in pain. Anakin grinned; his plan was working perfectly.

'Does this fish have bones in it or something?' Padmé asked, staring suspiciously at her plate.

'No, it doesn't,' said Anakin at the exact same moment the waiter said, 'Yes it does'.

Padmé was gingerly touching the foreign object with her tongue when Qui-Gon suddenly appeared beside her chair. Unfortunately, the shock caused Padmé to inhale the ring, and she began to choke and splutter.

'Have you got any breathmints?' Qui-Gon urgently asked Anakin. 'Make sure you have breathmints!'

Anakin did not answer; he was staring dumbly at Padmé.

Luckily, Padmé soon managed to dislodge the ring from her throat. Still gasping for breath, she stared, astonished, at the glittering diamond ring sitting in the palm of her hand. When he had observed this, Qui-Gon finally figured out what was going on.

'OH! I see. Right, right, sorry. Carry on.' And he disappeared, leaving a shocked silence behind him.

'What is all this about?' Padmé snapped. 'Are you asking me to marry you?'

Anakin turned a delightful shade of purple which just happened to be Padmé's favourite colour, and stammered, 'Uh, well… yes, I suppose I am.'

An expression that made Anakin sure he was about to be in pain passed over Padmé's face. He cringed away from her.

However, Padmé soon forgot her initial anger. The ring was very beautiful, she considered, and it would certainly go well with her diamond collier. Her face relaxed into a smile.

'Well, why not? Sure, I'll marry you.'

Anakin's eyes widened in shock and his fork clattered to the floor. Then, to Padmé's disgust, he began to sob into his gooberfish. As if that wasn't enough to scare away Anakin's future wife forever, Qui-Gon soon appeared beside him and, between sobs, offered his congratulations to the happy couple. It wasn't difficult for Padmé to slip away as the two men cried on each others' shoulders. She returned to the room, and spent the rest of the evening reflecting happily on her gorgeous new sparkler. There was just one problem: how was she going to avoid marrying Anakin?

The solution to this problem turned out to be quite straightforward. Padmé simply asked Anakin to meet her on a ship to Vegas, where they would supposedly marry. So it was that, a week later, Anakin was waiting excitedly on a crowded ship bound for his favourite planet in the Galaxy.

As he was staring absently out the window, reflecting on his good fortune, Qui-Gon's voice suddenly echoed in Anakin's mind. 'Remember this: make sure you check your back, because grey hairs grow there too, you know. Wait… sorry, that was for Obi-Wan. What was I going to say? Oh, yes: remember not everything may be as it seems.'

'I know, I know!' Anakin said out loud. 'Just leave me alone for a while, okay?' His fellow passengers edged away from him nervously.

Anakin craned his neck to survey the crowd, and his heart leapt with excitement. Someone in a familiar silver cloak was standing with their back to him at the front of the transport. Grinning, Anakin began to shove his way through the crowd. He was so overjoyed that he didn't even care that Padmé appeared to have put on a lot of weight since he had last seen her… and height.

'Padmé!' he cried happily as he reached her. 'It's so wonderful to see you! You have no idea how excited I am about this-'

Anakin's voice died in his throat as his "fiancé" turned around and pulled off her cloak. It was definitely not Padmé, or anyone he knew. In actual fact, it was one of Padmé's tall, burly bodyguards. She had ordered this man to replace her on the trip to Vegas, so that she would be able to avoid hell on earth: or, in other words, a marriage to Anakin. This was probably the most intelligent plan Padmé had ever devised, including her bid to make shopping an official sport when she was Queen of Naboo.

'Hello, husband-to-be,' the bodyguard said cheerfully in a very deep, gruff voice. 'We're going to have such a great time!'

At this point, Anakin's tortured brain finally gave up. He let out a piercing, bloodcurdling scream that caused a species of unicellular organisms on a nearby planet to spontaneously evolve into highly intelligent multicellular beings. These beings managed to invent a new kind of fuel within the first five minutes of their existence. Interestingly, the scream also caused all of the members of the Jedi Council to fall off their chairs at the exact same moment. This resulted in widespread fake amnesia, when the Council members insisted that they forgotten about any laws against drinking alcohol in the Jedi Code, and suggested they should all go out for a drink immediately.

So it was that Anakin's tragic downfall caused many happy endings for the people around him. Padmé ended up married to one of the beings that Anakin's scream had created, although perhaps she would have been less keen on him if she had been aware of the manner of his species' evolution. Mace was reinstated onto the Jedi Council, since Yoda had forgotten that he was ever expelled thanks to a mild case of concussion. Their argument was also forgotten, and then remembered every evening when Mace went to polish his poker trophy. Obi-Wan's grey hair problem was solved, as the force of his apprentice's scream caused all of his hair to fall out. Qui-Gon and Tahl had a delightful honeymoon when this same scream caused the icy climate of Hoth to switch to a warm, balmy temperature not unlike that of Hawaii.

The best outcome of this event was that Darth Vader never existed to torment the Galaxy. Anakin wasn't really in the mood to become a homicidal maniac in a mechanical suit after his embarrassing marriage and messy divorce. Instead, he chose to live a quiet, comfortable life as a hermit on Tatooine, where he could die of shame in private.

It's probably best that this parody ends with a moral, so that it isn't merely a ridiculous, pointless mess. Anakin is inclined to think the moral should be "never trust a woman", but it might be better to go with Qui-Gon's version: Sometimes terrible events can result in a better outcome for everyone, especially when it means an awful sequel will never be written.

Too bad I already wrote it.

**Yay! It's finally finished! So, what did you think? Was it a bit too ridiculous? Hopefully not. Please review and give me some feedback, either positive or negative! :)**

**This story is now complete, but I'll be seeing you guys around, since I still have my parody of The Phantom Menace to publish. Oh, and I've said this many times before, but just in case you haven't read my other parodies: my stories don't flow on from each other. So, my ROTS parody is a completely different story to this one.**

**Anyway, thanks so much for all your support and your lovely reviews! I've had heaps of fun with this story; hope you enjoyed it too! Byeee! xo**


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